Critical Mass
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Third installment following "Empty Arms" and "Twin Tailspins." When Brandi is faced with a crisis concerning her daughter, secrets surface out of the woodwork, with Mary and Marshall left to deal with the fallout. T for minor language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Oh, hello dear friends! I have missed you so much! (I always say that when I return, don't I)? This is a story I never thought I would finish. I started it at the end of July, so it's taken me about three months to complete. I never try to look at the time when I'm writing because it just makes me impatient with myself when I am eager for something to post! I mourn reviews when I am away and I do an absolutely terrible job of contributing them, because I forget to check the site when I have nothing to post! Not one of my finest attributes, especially when I want the reviews so badly myself!**

**Anyway, this is the third a series, following "Empty Arms" and "Twin Tailspins." Sweet Ben and Lizzie, who debuted in the last installment following Mary's miscarriage of Jamie, are now five years old and have been joined by a cousin – Brandi's daughter, Holly, aged almost-three. This story definitely explores a new route for me; there is a shakeup with Brandi, who I normally write as naive, but well-meaning. But, I figured if there was ever a story to have her turn a bad corner, this would be the one to do it because of how I wrote her behavior in "Empty Arms" and "Twin Tailspins." We'll see how I do with it! I always liked Brandi, but I know many of my reviewers weren't fond of her, so maybe this will seem realistic to you all!**

**Anyway – I'm so glad to be back! Hope you enjoy the ride!**

XXX

Until she'd had kids, Mary had never really understood Christmas. Of course, she knew it was significant for those who engaged in religious endeavors, but for someone who had been raised Catholic, she'd never really been schooled on the deeper meanings of the holiday. Indeed, in her youth it had seemed to serve as a time to remind her of what she was lacking that other children were not.

She still savored the year Jinx had given her the big wheel and she'd gone tearing around the block in pursuit of freedom. Nothing could top that, and as sweet as it had been, it was also sad in its own way. Mary had not grown up with youngsters who wished to escape their own home on Christmas day. More than happy to leave a newborn Brandi with a mother who was still trying to organize pots and pans in the kitchen from a fresh move, she couldn't fathom sticking around one second longer than she had to.

At six years old, Mary had been unable to register the oddness of her situation. What other kids had to look forward to was immaterial. She was simply comforted by knowing her father had been in his bed on Christmas Eve, even if he hadn't been there when she'd woken up the following morning.

But now, as a mother of two spunky and spirited five-year-olds, she was able to experience Christmas in a way she never had as a little girl. She couldn't imagine Ben and Lizzie wanted to flee the confines of their cramped New Mexico home, even if Ben did receive the navy and crimson racing bike he was hankering for – even if Lizzie obtained the play kitchen she'd seen in a catalog. One momentous gift would only have them diving for more; a single couldn't satisfy them as it had a six-year-old Mary. That was the way she liked it.

And despite her sudden fondness for the holidays, Mary still found herself in awe of all the merriment and decoration being spread all over her house. Right now, the artificial tree Marshall had picked up was bare, but dozens of cardboard boxes lay open on the floor, domed and spherical ornaments glimmering invitingly from the confines. Marshall himself was untangling a line of bright white lights while Lizzie stood ever-so-patiently at his side, waiting for daddy to tell her when to plug them in. Brandi's little one, Holly, was fumbling with a dirty baby doll in one of the armchairs, looking shy among all the action.

"Ben, for the last time…" Mary kicked a box aside as she strode over to the window and yanked her son off the back of the couch where he'd been attempting to climb the drapes like some acrobat. "You're not a cat. You're going to fall off the curtain rod and crack your head open."

Wholly undeterred by his mother's gruesome forecast, Ben squirmed in her grasp, but Mary refused to let him go until she'd said her piece. Apparently, he had a few words to bestow her with as well.

"Who's Ben?" he asked innocently.

Mary sighed loudly, "We're not playing this game."

"I don't see a Ben! I don't know _anybody_ named Ben!"

Unhelpfully, Marshall abandoned unstringing the lights and put his hand over his eyes like a visor, peering scrupulously around the room. Lizzie did not even flinch or become the least bit antsy when he divided his focus.

"No Bens here," Mary's husband proclaimed with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Keep it up, there aren't going to be any Marshalls either," Mary grumped, hitching the boy higher onto her hip.

Predictably, Lizzie was aghast at hearing her mother joking about doing away with her father. Mary barely saw her glassy, cloudless blue eyes widen in fear, like saucers in her smooth-skinned face. She knew Marshall would talk her down, and he didn't disappoint.

"Mama's fooling around, Lizzie Lou," he patted her corkscrew, spring-loaded ponytail, the dark chocolate of her hair gathered into a perfect coil. "We all know she'd be _nowhere_ without yours truly."

Mary hadn't stuck around to listen to this portion of the conversation, because Ben was making a break for the curtains again. Unable to hold him, he dropped onto the sofa with a thump and went clambering up the cushions once more, a cord of tinsel held tight in his clenched fist. His mother only had time to seize him around the ankles, forced to buy into the song and dance her little boy inflicted upon them on an hourly basis.

"Fine-fine…" she lamented, and Ben clearly recognized the defeat in her voice, because he quit struggling and settled himself with a satisfied smirk. "If you're not Ben, then who are you?"

This was met with flexing muscles and a stern brow, "My name is _Bullet_ – defender of the wide open blue!" he even fluffed the bright red superhero cape forever pinned to the back of his T-shirt. "Is there someone who needs saving?"

Without further ado, he snatched the nearest target, which was an unsuspecting Beatrix. As always, she yowled and twisted out of Ben's grasp, scampering across the rug to stand and groom her paws at Lizzie's feet. Ben frowned, but Mary had more important matters to attend to.

"Ben…" he gave her his best look of ignorance and she huffed. "_Bullet_. I keep telling you to leave Beatrix alone…"

"You mean my attack-cat!"

"Your attack-cat is going to claw your eyes out of you're not careful. You're too rough with her."

Lizzie chose this moment to stoop down and gently caress Beatrix's head, which only pronounced her brother's scowl.

Hair and eyes the exact same shades of brown and blue as his sister's, Ben's mop of brunette was uncombed and a rat's nest all over his round head. Aside from being male and female, they were as identical as it was possible to be, other than the fact that Ben's locks were soft and flyaway, whereas Lizzie's were coarse and serpentine. The boy was also taller and broader than Lizzie, who had been petite since day one.

"I can't rescue all the people in the airplanes if I'm not high enough," Ben rationalized, gesturing over his head at the curtains. "They'll die."

"Be that as it may," Mary ignored his dramatics. "Who's gonna rescue _you_ if you crash over the back of the couch?"

Her son had no answer to this, but it seemed he didn't need one. Fortunately, the real and only rescuer in the house answered the call seamlessly, cutting right through Mary's attempts to make their child see reason.

"Tell you what, spark…" the father had all sorts of corny nicknames for his twins. "Lizzie and I need someone to inspect all these ornaments," he pointed at the boxes at their feet. "They've been locked up in the garage all year and I'm pretty sure there could be some man-eating bugs chomping their way through the glass…"

Ben flew off the sofa in an instant and stuck his nose in the nearest carton while Lizzie continued to look fretful at Marshall's explanation.

"Are there really bugs in there, daddy?" she wanted to know in her high voice. "What if Ben can't find them all and they get out…?"

As Mary passed to check on Holly in the armchair, she felt her daughter reach for her hand. Marshall bent his knees and whispered something in Lizzie's ear, undoubtedly how he was telling a little white lie about the insects so Ben could play pretend. Used to her child's constant worry, Mary was pleased to see her loosen up after sharing secrets with her father and squeezed those tiny fingers before venturing onward to her niece.

Depositing the stray tinsel that Ben had dropped in a nearby container, Mary eyed Holly while the child fiddled with the bonnet on her doll's head. She seemed bored and gloomy when her twin cousins were making such a to-do out of the festivities. Perhaps the fact that Brandi and Jinx weren't around spreading their usual brand of joy, she was feeling left out. Lizzie was very prim and proper, but Holly was infinitely girlier; with her mother and grandmother gone, she was an odd duck.

"What's up, Jolly Holly?" Mary proposed, though she was looking none-too-chipper at the moment. "You want to help Ben look for bugs or…whatever it is that he's scouting?" waving a hand over her shoulder.

Holly, towhead blonde which made her look like the neighborhood kid and not a Shannon-Mann-Alpert, didn't answer her aunt and kept her eyes on the carpet. Brandi had styled her hair in what Mary looked at as an obnoxious boy-cut because the little girl screeched when a brush was pulled through her locks.

At almost three years old, she was hot and cold about everything, but the woman couldn't help hoping her strands grew out soon. She was a very pretty child, but there was no evading that kind of trim in making you look male.

"Wanna go home…" Holly mumbled almost incoherently.

Mary decided she could finesse this a little bit, "Holls, I'm wounded." She recalled that a child of two or three probably would not know what 'wounded' meant and rephrased. "I mean, seriously, that hurts. You don't like hanging out here with your old auntie and uncle?"

Holly just continued to pout, "Mommy's gone."

"Mommy went shopping," Mary corrected, wondering why Brandi hadn't been able to take her daughter along since she doubted the woman was buying anything for said daughter, even with Christmas approaching. "She won't be gone that long. She and Grandma are just picking up a few things."

Though not typically overly affectionate, Mary made a solid stab at getting her niece to open up, extending a hand, but she just wiggled out of the way. She'd never been partial to Mary even though the aunt sometimes felt she spent more time with her and Marshall than she did with her own parents.

"Come decorate the tree," she invited, drawing back. "Marshall and Lizzie need help."

"No tree," Holly bemoaned, stealing covert glances upward to see if Mary was still giving this a go. "The tree's scratchy."

"It's not that bad," Mary insisted, fighting to keep annoyance out of her voice. "If you want, you can pick the ornaments and Lizzie can hang them up if you don't want to touch the tree."

Holly appeared to consider and she was just on the verge of crawling to the edge of the chair and peering at what was going on when a triumphant shout sounded behind them. Mary whirled around to see Ben scurrying across the floor on his belly, hands outstretched in pursuit of something quick that was scuttling from the confines of a box.

"The man-eating bugs!" he bellowed. "I found them!"

Lizzie shrieked and tried to climb up Marshall's leg, settling for clinging to his jeans out of the way of Ben's quest.

"Daddy, you said there were no bugs!"

"I'm sure it's just a spider or something with a few legs," Marshall shot Mary a sheepish look, not having anticipated Ben coming across anything but cobwebs in the boxes. "Ben's on it though, don't worry."

Holly perched on her knees to watch the action, but Ben was taking a step too far for his overprotective mother. How his eyes were sharp enough to still see the pest she would never be able to guess, but he'd hurtled behind the couch in a snap, landing with a loud thump onto the space between fixture and window.

"Ben, I told you to quit jumping off the furniture!" Mary barked.

He paid her no mind, "I've got him! Fear not!" the boy read far too many comic books.

"This is all your fault," Mary pointed a stern finger at Marshall, who was plainly trying to keep from laughing. "If you wouldn't indulge him in this ridiculous superhero nonsense he wouldn't be on the verge of breaking his neck all the time."

Now her husband looked marginally ashamed, but also slightly exasperated, jerking his head at Lizzie below them.

"Mare, be careful about talking like that in front of…" more swiveling of his eyes and his head toward their daughter. "…You know she doesn't like it."

Mary did find it difficult to reign in her sarcasm where Lizzie was concerned; their perpetual worrier, she took everything literally, including Ben believing he could rid the world of evil. Mary honestly didn't know how she would've fared without a brother who managed to convince his sister he was the greatest vanquisher the world had ever seen.

"Get out from back there right now," the woman ordered, not before flashing Marshall a look of understanding at his request. Marching to the couch and pulling him up by his cape, "Forget the damn bugs…"

Lizzie gasped, "Oh, mama said a bad word…"

"She just forgets sometimes," Marshall reminded her. "We'll cut her some slack."

"Help dad untangle the lights," the wife ignored them both, giving Ben her best and most beady stare. "If you chill out now, you can build with the couch cushions after dinner, all right?" she was an expert at bargaining.

And Ben was sold, "Okay!" and he parked himself on the rug, digging through all the decorations for more strands of lights.

Crisis averted, Mary returned to Holly, who seemed to be frozen on the edge of her seat after her cousin's spectacle. Without tentativeness or waiting for approval this time, she scooped her up in one fell swoop, carrying her over to what was going on by the tree. She whined and clawed at Mary's neck, but said nothing else.

"You got a job for this girl?" she inquired of Marshall, who was happy to pause in his mission to fawn over his niece.

"Oh, I think we can scrounge something up," he declared, taking the little one from Mary when she held out her hands; Lizzie shot the pair a jealous look, but stayed quiet. "Which lights do you like better? White or colored?"

Although a reluctant grin had escaped at being with her treasured Uncle Marshall, Holly was still fairly single-minded, "Mommy be back soon?"

He might be as sensitive as they came, but fatherhood had taught Marshall not to cater to homesickness for too long, "Oh, there is no way you can convince me you'd rather go on some boring old shopping trip than break out all the bells and whistles here with us." In an attempt to rile her, he dug his fingers into her sides to make her giggle, "There's that Jolly Holly smile."

"But, I…I…" she gasped between snickers, her nose scrunching up beneath her eyes. Mary couldn't help noticing that Lizzie still would not take her eyes off them, but she stood still as a statue just like she always did. "I…I want mommy…feel…yucky…"

Marshall halted his entertainment, much to Lizzie's delight, "You feel yucky?" he proposed cautiously. "Where? Does your tummy hurt?"

Holly shook her head, her eyes following Beatrix's path on the rug; the animal was taking care to steer clear of Ben, sauntering to hide behind a throw pillow on the couch.

"Well, Uncle Marshall is a seasoned professional when it comes to ill-feeling children," the man declared pompously. "Perhaps it's all in your mind…" he twirled a finger around the side of his face to indicate lunacy.

Pressing the entire body of his little niece against his chest, he laid a kiss to her temple and then rested his free hand on one of her cheeks.

"Hmm…" Mary recognized the genuine surprise in his murmur. "You know…" he was still testing with his fingers before he came to a conclusion. "She does feel a little warm to me, Mare…"

Mary took her turn at examining Holly's flesh and saw immediately that Marshall was right. Her skin was definitely holding heat and under the lamp on the end table, her aunt noticed there were red patches in her cheeks. Feeling slightly guilty now for trying to corral the kid into aiding with Christmas regalia, Mary turned as empathetic as she knew how to be.

"Are you hungry Holls?" she asked, pushing her bangs aside. "Grandma made a batch of cookies earlier; they were supposed to be for after dinner, but do you want some?"

At this, Lizzie could not withhold her usual patience any longer. She tugged on the hem of Mary's shirt, causing the mother to look down into those spacious, swirling cerulean eyes.

"What?"

"Can I have a cookie too?" she advised softly.

"We can all have some," Mary decided. "If it'll make Holly feel better," trivial as it was, she still wanted approval from this girl of Brandi's who had always preferred Marshall.

"I not sick…" the child in question drawled unexpectedly. "I have birthday…"

"Oh, your birthday's not for another twelve days," Marshall assured her breezily. "You'll be more than ready to party by then."

Most children would feel isolated having a birthday so close to Christmas but Holly, born December twenty-sixth, had always reveled in the extra attention Jinx and Brandi gave her, trying to make up for her having landed so near to the holiday. It was her winter birth that had inspired her name. Only Mary's baby sister would title her child, 'Holly Noel Alpert.'

"What do you say to those cookies then?" Marshall urged to get her mind off being unwell for her celebration. "I bet if you're real nice to Lizzie she'll help you reach the jar," he threw his daughter a gentlemanly wink, which seemed to erase her envy in a flash.

"Come on Holly," Lizzie held out her hand sweetly as Marshall slipped his niece onto the floor. "I know where daddy keeps the frosting too…" she whispered stealthily.

Both Mary and Marshall watched them depart for a moment while Ben stayed stationed on the floor. While he seemed to be snarling the lights into worse strands rather than untying the cords, Mary knew it was best to leave him be. Far more of a livewire than his sister, if you could get him sitting down you would be a fool to rouse him.

"Look at us…" Marshall finally sighed reminiscently, throwing his arm around Mary's shoulders. "We should take holiday card pictures while we're at this."

"Count me out," Mary rebutted, shaking her head as she observed Lizzie sliding a chair over to the counter for Holly to stand on. "You know I don't come from matching sweaters and reindeer ears. I think we took a grand total of one photo for the holidays when I was a kid."

"I'd pay to see that," his lips were migrating to her ear now that they had two of the three children mostly occupied, hoping to sneak in a quick kiss. "I'm sure shots of you and Brandi beat the ones I had to endure with my brothers. Sweatshirts reading, 'I deerly love Christmas' with a stitched print of Rudolph only bring up so many fond memories."

Mary couldn't contain the cackling laugh that escaped, "Ha. Puns. Lame," she took a chance at pawing him away, not wanting to be chorused in 'oohs' from the kids if they were caught making out. "A gesture like that in this house would have you in court."

"I promise," Marshall avowed, not about to be deterred in his romantics. "No punny sweatshirts." After Mary had rolled her eyes, "Printed pajamas maybe. Doesn't having twins give us clearance to dress them alike – being male and female notwithstanding?"

"Yeah, and what are we gonna put not-so-Jolly Holly in when the flashes start to go off?" she gestured at the youngest who was waiting for Lizzie to give her a choice of cookies.

"Holly is not our child," Marshall was sometimes forced to remind her of this fact, because Mary often fretted about her welfare by default simply because she was Brandi's daughter.

"Yeah, and you'd never know it since Brandi's always dumping her on our doorstep. You'd think after almost three years of having a kid she'd own up to the responsibility a little bit."

"Give her a break," Marshall encouraged, rubbing her shoulder now. "She does her best. Expressing some kind of confidence your sister's direction could go a long way."

"Confidence about what?" Mary wanted to know, genuinely curious. "If Holly isn't with us, she's with Jinx or Peter."

"He's her father."

"Well, Holly's just lucky he's so on top of it because the way Brandi and Peter have been sparring lately…" she shook her head, not finishing her sentence when Marshall put a finger to his lips, not wanting to touch upon this subject on what had minutes before been a festive afternoon. "I'm just saying…" the woman hissed in an undertone. "If they separate or something Brandi's going to have to step-up…"

"Come on, nothing like that's going to happen," Marshall had faith, something in which Mary had always been deficient. "They're just going through a rough patch. It's tough raising a kid."

Mary was not willing to argue about this facet. Yes, it was hard raising a child – it was even harder raising two at once, and yet she and Marshall had managed and mostly with flying colors. Her husband had to beseech her a little too often that not everyone viewed parenthood the same way as Mary. She had been so relieved, so over-the-moon to become a mother after losing Jamie that she sometimes forgot that others had misgivings and doubts. Brandi's continual lack of self-esteem meant she didn't always see herself as the world's greatest parent.

Instead, the blonde diverted to a new route, "Holly better not be getting sick; we don't need a house full of snot-monsters for the holiday."

"I'm sure she's fine," Marshall declared with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Kids run warm sometimes and Jinx packed her into that heavy sweater. She'll perk up once Brandi comes back."

Only Marshall could get Mary to truly enjoy the festivities that came with Christmas, could make her abandon the pressures of caring for Brandi's child along with their own and, this time, she allowed his kiss to take shape. Closing her eyes and sighing quietly, she felt his lips linger on her cheek before ultimately traveling to her mouth, capturing her own lips in a pillowy, gentle flutter. Mary found herself weaving her arm around his back, deepening their embrace, until their reality descended upon them in a flash.

"Ewwwwwww!" Ben squealed dramatically behind them. "Don't look, don't look!" Mary opened her eyes just long enough to peer over Marshall's shoulder and see her son covering his lids in embarrassment. "They're _kissing_! Gross!"

Forever amused by Ben, both Lizzie and Holly joined right in, "GROSS!" they screeched in unison, a hesitant smile worming its way onto Holly's bashful face.

Mary's eyes journeyed skyward yet again, but Marshall didn't let go of his woman for a minute, perfectly proud to have been smooching in the middle of a cold December day in the living room.

"You just wait, mister," he said to Ben. "One day you're gonna be kissing girls with the best of 'em."

All this earned him was a splutter and hair flapping side to side, "Never, dad!"

"Yeah dad…" Mary smirked, patting Marshall's bristly cheek, having her own reasons for not wanting to think about the twins being grown-up enough to do anything of the kind. "Never."

XXX

**A/N: It starts out sappy, but it sure doesn't stay that way – I can promise you! I would love any feedback you are able to give me! Also wishing my buddy Jayne a very happy birthday; I am so glad I could get this finished in time for your special day!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you for the initial reviews! A small, but mighty band! I appreciate all the views and favorites as well, even if you can't find the time to comment every day! I understand! XOXO**

XXX

The scream came at roughly two in the morning, after a cheerful afternoon spangling their abode and devouring Jinx's cookies before she or Brandi arrived back at the house. The first time Mary had heard the bloodcurdling, skin-crawling squeal about three years earlier, she'd been certain one of her children was being mauled to death by a grizzly bear. It was _that_ loud – that piercing. It would have to be, to reach Mary and Marshall in their bedroom down the hall.

But now, the woman was as used to it as she was scraped knees and wrinkled school papers in the bottom of backpacks. It was routine, if not slightly unnerving when it happened more than a few nights in a row. Considering the circumstances surrounding her birth, it was ironic that Lizzie could have such a spectacular set of lungs on her, but have them she did.

Mary refused to cite the source of the shouts as 'night terrors' which was what Marshall had donned the workings of their daughter's subconscious. To her, it seemed far too dramatic a title for bad dreams. In truth, when she'd looked up 'night terrors' on the Internet, she had been alarmed by how different they were from average nightmares. All the physical symptoms that went along with the sensation were troubling, but Mary was still in denial about her child being so horrified in the stages of deep sleep.

"Mama! Mama!" Lizzie's frightened wail sounded from the next room.

Mary gave a groan through the darkness, hearing Marshall do the same to her right. It was odd, but during the day Lizzie was all about her daddy – her daddy's attention, her daddy's wisdom. But when the walls began closing in it was mama – always mama – whom she sought for comfort.

"You want me to go?" Marshall offered thickly, rolling over and almost pitching Mary onto the carpet due to being so remiss.

Mary shook her head side to side on the pillow, "Is your name 'mama?'"

Perhaps in an effort to drill this into both parents, Lizzie gave another holler, "MAMA!"

The blonde would never understand why her little girl didn't just get out from under the covers and come into their bedroom if she was so scared, but she'd never bothered to ask. Slapping her palm over her eyes and bracing herself for whatever demon had haunted Lizzie's mind tonight, Mary made herself swing her legs over the frame and stumble to the door.

"I'll get her some water…" Marshall was desperate to feel useful, as he hadn't had a decent comeback for Mary's previous question. "Maybe she left Pretzel out in the living room…"

Pretzel was Lizzie's stuffed bear, a dull khaki color with fluffy fur. He was named as such because his legs were considerably longer than his arms and she'd taken great pleasure during toddlerhood in tying them in knots.

"Good luck finding him," Mary drawled, almost tripping over the open closet door and fighting a swearword when she stubbed her toe.

"What was that?" Marshall materialized out of the shadows when Mary turned the knob to spill them into the hall. "Did you make that thud?"

"Never mind," his wife shuffled off to the twins' room, deciding it wasn't important.

Marshall left it alone and made his way to the kitchen while Mary smoothed her matted hair and granted herself admittance into what had once been the nursery. She was unsurprised to find Lizzie clutching her blankets up around her chin, her silhouette trembling with sobs from where she'd sprung bolt upright. Ben, who couldn't possibly have missed the episode, seemed to have climbed down the ladder of their bunk bed. In actuality, it was a loft, with Ben's bunk horizontal and Lizzie's vertical across the bottom, giving them room to shove a dresser underneath.

Snapping on the lamp on their bedside table, she never failed to be touched watching her son stand guard over his sister, doing the job until their parents could swoop in to save the day.

"Lizzie had a nightmare," he announced boldly.

"Oh, you don't say?" Mary played along, falling back on sarcasm. "Give me those, baby…let go…" she coaxed Lizzie to relinquish her grip on her blankets.

"I told her I was right here and that I'd save her from any bad guys, but she still wanted to see you," Ben reported swiftly, eliciting a smile from his mother.

She reached over to rumple his hair, already extremely tousled, "Well, thanks for standing in, Bullet."

Since their infancy, the twins had always presented the air that Ben was the older and more defensive of the two, and so it always came as a shock to strangers that Lizzie actually surpassed her brother by three minutes in terms of age. It just proved to Mary that three minutes made no difference; you couldn't put much stock in birth order, especially when it came down to the seconds.

"Should I get her some water?" Ben submitted kindly, still not leaving Lizzie's side.

"Dad's taking care of it," Mary assured him. "Why don't you go help him look for Pretzel though?" she had just noticed that the bear was indeed missing from the rumpled sheets and comforter.

Her son held up a finger, signifying his mission, "Back in a flash!" and he was off, pattering on his bare feet down the hall to join Marshall.

Once he was gone, Mary settled herself on the edge of the mattress, knowing that in spite of how much she adored Ben, Lizzie wasn't always comfortable breaking down in front of him. He was used to her, of course, but her mother secretly wondered if she worried Ben would think she was immature for being fearful. Mary doubted this, but there was no convincing her daughter.

"What was it this time, Liz?" she asked softly, motioning to the inner part of her chest, enticing her to crawl out of the fetal position and onto her lap. "The mummies? The goblins?"

"The witch…" her tearstained child quivered, crawling clumsily across the bed to meet Mary. "She was all green…and she tried to shove me into her oven…"

"Was Aunt Brandi reading you 'Hansel and Gretel' again?" Mary guessed, cursing her sister for never being able to remember that spooky fairytales weren't Lizzie's style.

In another, deeper part of her chest, Mary felt a pang of sadness at the name 'Gretel.' Once upon a time she'd known a child with such a name. She thought about her and her brothers more than she admitted.

"It was really-really scary, mama…" Lizzie claimed, but now she was close enough to bury herself in the security of Mary's grasp, and the inspector was more than happy to allow her admittance.

Lugging her daughter onto her lap, she felt the little girl loop her arms around her neck, dampening the back of Mary's loose top with fresh tears. Mary contended herself with rubbing her back, running her hand up and down the purple thermal pajamas she wore, catching sight of the little ballerina graphics printed onto the fabric. These particular pajamas must've been Jinx's doing.

Unlike Marshall, Mary wasn't one to pacify her child with whispered shushing and promises that everything was okay. If she did that, she might be lying, and Mary refused to fib to the twins, even accidentally. She went with neat honesty and careful, frank reassurances.

"Liz, you know that whatever you saw is just make believe, right?" she laid a kiss on her coiled brunette waves, half out of the ponytail they'd been confined to earlier. "It wasn't real. It's just your imagination running wild…"

Lizzie was still snuffling and whimpering, "B…B…Ben n-never h-has bad…dreams…" she moaned tragically, furthering Mary's theory about her little one's feelings of inferiority.

"He does to," Mary scoffed derisively. "He pretends to be a tough guy, but even he gets scared. Everybody does."

"Even you?"

Long ago, Mary would've hesitated and waffled for several minutes, motoring her way around answering truthfully, but not anymore.

"Sure."

Although Mary had admitted this on many occasions before, it still seemed to befuddle her Lizzie, who gave a more measured shudder, calming down the longer she was in her mother's arms. Mary switched to patting her back upon hearing her coast into more manageable hysteria.

"What scares _you_?" Lizzie wanted to know.

"Well…" Mary left one more kiss, this time on her temple, before making her pull away, brushing bangs out of her eyes as she went on. "I was pretty freaked out when you were born. You were kind of a pipsqueak you know."

The blonde was certain this would do the trick to getting Lizzie back to bed, and the desired result was achieved in no time flat. A shaky grin appeared on her face and she blinked innocently, vying for the tale she'd been privy to many times in the past.

"Can you tell the story?" she asked earnestly. "About when Ben and I were born? Please?"

Mary was resigned to saying yes, thinking of a way to abbreviate certain portions so she could get back to bed by two thirty, when a buoyant yell sounded from down the hall. Before Mary could open her mouth to conciliate her daughter, Ben returned, waving Pretzel the bear in his right hand.

"I found him!" he flung the stuffed animal into Lizzie's lap with a flourish. "All in a day's work," like father like son, he gave a mock-bow of conceit.

Lizzie scooped up her toy, hugging him to her chest, reminiscent of the way Mary often hugged Beatrix when she was feeling low.

"Thanks Ben…" she muttered quietly, face buried in the bear's fur, looking soothed already. "Where was he?"

"Behind one of the couch pillows," Ben hung off the ladder with one hand, swinging back and forth like he was a trapeze artist. "It was a _daring_ rescue…" showing off his vocabulary. "I had to sneak up behind the wall, so quiet; I couldn't make a sound…"

The way his eyes danced when he got going on a good legend reminded Mary so much of Marshall; their excitement and vigor was identical. However, she made herself cut him off this time; if he got going, he'd get all worked-up and never go back to sleep.

"Listen, Superman…" she reached out to give him a tickle, but he wiggled away.

"Bullet," he corrected between laughs.

"Whoever," Mary lamented, pleased to see Lizzie's trembling subside now that she was clutching her treasured Pretzel. "It's time for you to get back in bed, Mr. Smug," she wasn't sure if he knew what that meant, but it sounded good. "You'll need your rest if you're going to be busy defending the world tomorrow."

Lizzie came back to life upon hearing that their mother intended to shackle them back under the covers, "Nooooooooo!" but this whine was different; there was persuasion in every note. "You haven't told the story yet!"

"What story?" Ben inquired while Mary shook her head, too easily swayed by her children.

"The one about when we were born!"

"Aw, I don't like that one…" the boy made a face, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. "I've heard it too many times; it's boring."

Before they could start the full-blown bickering, Mary was saved from detailing her C-section once again, this time due to the arrival of Marshall, who waltzed in holding a glass of water, playing the part of a waiter.

"Beverage, anyone?" he asked the room at large, pretending to peer over heads.

Mary was forever in awe of how calm and collected he behaved in the wee hours of the morning, never acting as though he was inconvenienced or annoyed by his children's nightmares. Watching him, you'd think they'd all gotten up for a bonfire and s'mores just to while away the hours for the fun of it. It was often his careful cajoling with Lizzie and firm wheedling with Ben that sent them back to their beds.

"Is 'beverage' a drink?" Lizzie proposed in an undertone to Mary, not wanting to show her father that she didn't understand his fancy verbiage.

"Yes," Mary bit back a laugh. "Listen Poindexter, try speaking English," she quipped to spare Lizzie additional embarrassment. Taking the glass from his fingers and handing it to her daughter, "We don't have time to decode."

"I like any opportunity to impart my high-caliber intelligence," Marshall puffed out his chest, making Lizzie giggle around sips of water. "Bullet here has already picked up on so much of my vernacular."

"Show-off," Mary snarked, producing yet another snicker from Lizzie.

For Ben, this seemed to be a trigger; although very protective of his sister, he also liked any opportunity to gallivant about the house in the middle of the night. He flung his grip off the ladder and went bounding across the room, throwing himself at Marshall, who was heads-up enough to catch him and lift him high.

"Now that we're up…" he began deviously. "Can we watch those monster movies they show on TV late at night? I saw this one at Aunt Brandi's once – it had a _werewolf_ in it!"

"No…" Lizzie whimpered, smacking her lips free of moisture from her water glass. "No monster movies; they're too scary."

"I'll be there," Ben declared, waving an indistinct hand over his shoulder, as though this would solve all of the girls' problems. "Can we dad? Tomorrow's Saturday; I don't have to go to school…"

Marshall threw Mary an indulgent look, but she gave him the best, most stone-faced expression she possessed. Her husband was a far softer touch than she was, and even though she knew he didn't _really_ want to be up until dawn watching old black-and-white renditions of Godzilla, he had a hard time saying no to Ben. The real issue was that Ben knew it.

But, Marshall knew that sparring with Mary was unwise, especially at this hour, "Sorry, spark. Sleep takes precedence right now. We can watch one of those Scooby Doo videos tomorrow if you want…"

Lizzie gave an eager nod upon hearing this, but Ben merely frowned, fiddling with the buttons on Marshall's flannel pajama top held aloft in his arms.

"Scooby Doo is for babies."

"Ben," Mary cut in sharply seeing the stricken look on Lizzie's face. "We've talked about this. Not everybody likes the same things. You liking scary stuff doesn't make you better than people who don't."

There was no stopping the pride that flitted in Marshall's fuzzy eyes at hearing Mary playing the higher authority in a discussion about feelings. Motherhood had altered her mindset in truly alarming ways. While she might usually be closer to Ben because of his rugged nature, Marshall knew she despised seeing Lizzie hurt, especially since she seemed to view her as more fragile and feeble than her brother.

"But, I like Scooby Doo…" Lizzie chirruped, seemingly not noticing Mary's round-about way of defending her. "I like Daphne and Shaggy…"

Ben was still disgruntled, but Marshall kept him from antagonizing his sister further, "We can all pick something to watch in the morning – maybe a Christmas movie, now that we have the house all decorated." Both twins brightened slightly at the compromise. "Right now though, it's back to bed with the both of you…"

"Uh-oh, dad's playing bad cop…" Mary taunted, even as she guided Lizzie back under her covers and replaced the half-drunk cup of water to the night table by the door. "We all know how he stinks at going all 'evil sheriff.'"

"Yeah, dad!" both kids chorused.

Marshall took it in stride, carrying Ben back to the ladder, when a remote and ringing buzz sounded from somewhere outside the door. Both Mary and Marshall took pause, while Lizzie continued to get situated inside her blankets. Slowly, Marshall slipped Ben onto the floor, which ordinarily would've been a very bad idea because he was likely to bolt for the living room.

"Is that my phone?" Marshall inquired.

"I think it's mine," Mary recognized the subtle difference in the rings, wondering what work-related emergency had cropped up that would now prevent her from getting any sleep at all.

She was on the verge of rising, but Marshall held up a hand to stop her, forever the knight in shining armor.

"You put these two ragamuffins down…"

"Don't say ragamuffins," Mary commanded, which he brushed over.

"I'll grab your cell. It's probably something either of us can handle…" which was a safe assumption if it was WITSEC-related.

As expected, Ben tried to tail along after his father, hoping to be privy to whatever conversation might occur over the phone. To both Mary's and Marshall's chagrin, he was fascinated by what they did at work besides 'apprehend bad guys' and they often put-off facing that he was going to have to be clued in minimally so that he'd stop nosing around.

This time, however, Mary stopped him in his tracks as Marshall disappeared back to the master bedroom.

"Ben, hold it!"

Her son swung on the doorframe, screeching to a halt at his mother's harsh timbre.

"Get back in here. Now."

"Aww…" he pouted, annoyed with being caught, but he slumped over anyway, dropping theatrically onto the edge of the bed, nearly landing himself on Lizzie's knees. "Can't I just listen to a little bit? I promise not to tell what dad talks about…"

Mary forcefully shook her head, and was interrupted by the girl, sheets already fastened around her chin where she lay.

"You won't have to go to work, will you mama?" she wondered, wide-eyed with her chocolate ringlets spread out all over her pillow.

"Well, I don't know…" Mary shrugged, Ben stealing glances at the open doorway all the while. "Either me or dad might have to head out for a little bit, but someone will be here," she stroked the child's hair for emphasis.

Since the twins had been born the inspectors had operated under a kind of tag-team effort. They were rarely together in the field anymore, although worked in harmony on anything going on at the office. Delia had been given a promotion a few years ago, and partnered either Mary or Marshall when anything dangerous cropped up. One thing was for sure; both Manns wore their bullet-proof vests one hundred percent of the time these days, contrary to their former, carefree selves.

"You gonna blast somebody if you leave?" Ben interjected hungrily.

"No," Mary replied firmly, not wanting to put ideas in Lizzie's head. She busied herself straightening his pajama top; they were green with fire-breathing dragons all over them. "You know how it works. Sometimes there are people who really need our help, day or night, and it's important that one of us be there for them."

Before Ben could pounce for details, Lizzie cut in timidly, "But, I miss you when you're gone, mama."

Touched, but slightly unsettled by her daughter's unbridled fears about being alone, Mary worked a smile onto her face and tucked Pretzel into the bend of Lizzie's elbow.

"I miss you too, Liz. But, rules are rules – sometimes we just do what needs to be done."

Lizzie nodded solemnly, if somewhat apprehensively, just as Marshall stuck his head back into the room. He'd returned faster than Mary had expected him, and there was a definite graveness to his normally twinkling azure eyes – the eyes of their children. He was spared covering up his features by Ben engaging Lizzie with thoughts of all the things they could do without Mary in the house, and she was able to see the man beckon with his long index finger. She sent him a quick nod, showing she understood, and immediately turned to the kids so they wouldn't suspect anything.

"Listen you two, I'll be right back, okay?" she spoke to both at once. "Ben, I want you back up there when I come to turn the light out," she indicated the loft above her head.

They effectively ignored her, occupied with their chattering, but she could worry about tying Ben to his mattress later. She left knowing they were content and bustled into the darkened hallway to see which witness had gotten themselves into a knot this time.

His sharp, angular face blurred and shadowy in the half-light of the hall, Marshall had already hung up her cell by the time she reached him. Though she was trying not to fret, Mary couldn't help but be a little disturbed by the severe look he was giving her.

"What is it?" she whispered. "Not another Maureen I hope," death around the holidays would be tragic.

"It's not a witness," he relayed, taking care to keep his voice even lower than Mary's to avoid the children hearing. "It was Brandi."

At this, Mary couldn't help the exasperated sigh that escaped. It was a reflex; she was tired and hankering to go back to bed. What could her sister possibly want at two in the morning?

"What now?" she had to fight not to snap. "Honestly. It's not enough that we watch her kid every day of the week, now she needs me for a _full_ twenty-four hours?"

Marshall did not bother with Mary's poor attitude, "It has to do with Holly," he murmured. "Brandi and Peter just took her to the ER."

Goose bumps rose on Mary's arms, even though she could feel the heat blasting out of the floor vent near her bare feet. She swallowed hard, not having expected something like this. Her memory was jogged when she recalled Holly feeling warm that afternoon when they'd been putting up the Christmas decorations. But, Marshall had been certain that was nothing. What else could have happened to her? She was only three years old – or nearly. Mary might not be her favorite person, but she was just a little girl.

"What? What for? What happened?" the woman struggled to keep her voice impassive, as though she was not nervous in the least.

Marshall exhaled, "Holly woke up a little while ago not feeling well. They took her temperature and it was around a hundred and four…" this sounded daunting, but he wasn't through. "I guess Peter tried to help her out of her bed – you know she has a bunk bed too…"

Mary did know. Holly had begged for a loft like the twins had, purely because the twins had one, but she had no one to sleep in the gap on the bottom.

"She must've missed a step going down – I'm honestly not sure; Brandi was really upset on the phone – but she fell off and hit the ground pretty hard; they think she hurt her leg somehow."

It was worse than Mary had thought, and still she battled with herself to stay in control, if for no other reason than that she didn't want the twins to worry. Her close relationship with the truth meant she needed time to figure out how to explain to them what was going on; there were no secrets in this house.

Unfortunately, Marshall was watching her for signs of outward sensitivity; even in this chaotic moment, he was focused on her feelings. She was different with Holly than she was with Ben and Lizzie; the twins had always been their mother's children. But, she didn't have the same way with her niece; she always seemed to lack something that had the little one keeping her distance.

Still, she cared about the child. She wasn't going to act like she didn't.

What came first was a swallow; "Okay…" her voice was hushed in the dusk. "All right…" she tried to put her hands in her pockets, but there weren't any attached to her drawstring pants. Twisting her fingers together instead, "So…what? What should we do? Do we go to the hospital? Is it that serious?"

"I think it might be," Marshall was very direct. "A hundred and four degree fever is a tall order."

"What do you think is wrong with her?"

"I honestly don't know," he admitted. "She may have a bad virus of some kind, but an injured leg on top of being sick is hardly fun. From the way Brandi came across on the phone…" he paused, likely trying to figure out how to sugarcoat panic. "I think it would be helpful for at least one of us to go over there and sit with her. She has Peter, of course, but nonetheless…"

"Right-right…" Mary murmured agitatedly, cutting him off as she remembered the testy demeanor that had existed between her sister and brother-in-law as of late. "Do you want to stay with the kids?" she'd already resigned herself to throwing on some clothes and toiling over to the emergency room through everlastingly green stoplights.

But Marshall surprised her, "I think you should probably stay here. You're really not a fan of hospitals…" he was remembering her experiences with Jamie, the amniocentesis, and the premature labor episode. "And the two of them will get to bed quicker if mom's in charge."

Mary attempted a modest shrug. She wasn't going to pretend that she really wanted to go and hold Brandi's hand. It went without saying that she felt dreadful for her – lord only knew how Mary would be behaving if this were one of her kids – but Marshall was better with touchy-feely topics. He would do a better job talking Brandi off the ledge, and it would probably aide Peter to have another man around.

"If that's what you think is best," the woman was willing to give him authority. "Then fine. I'll put Ben and Lizzie down and you can call me when you have something to report."

"Fine," Marshall nodded. "You gonna let them in on it?" he jerked his head at the half-open doorway, indicating the twins.

"Some version of 'it,' yeah," Mary was unabashed. "You know I don't like keeping them in the dark."

"You're the boss," Marshall declared, and before Mary could say anything more, he had left a kiss on her cheek and shuffled off down the hall, ready for action; ready to play the hero.

After all, it was one of the roles he played best.

XXX

**A/N: I know the fever reading is slightly dramatic, but that's my creative license at work again! Any feedback you can give would be much appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank-you to those who are reading/reviewing! I do so appreciate it!**

XXX

Unlike this wife, Marshall had never held an issue with hospitals. It was true that Mary hadn't developed an aversion until she'd had to visit so many times during her pregnancy, but Marshall had always managed to retain his cool. Yes, there were bothersome aspects, even for those who weren't admitted – the smell of rubbing alcohol, the everlasting hustle and bustle, not to mention the consternation in wait for bad news. Whatever the reason, he had always been on the more collected end of waiting in the emergency room.

And when he reached the emergency room itself and gave the receptionist Brandi's and Peter's names, he was immediately directed upstairs to the children's ward. Surprised to find that Holly had already been relieved of the waiting room, he followed the woman's directions and located pediatrics quite speedily, hoping he wouldn't ever be back with his own children.

Marshall knew instantly he was in the right place, even without the swinging sign hanging from the ceiling when he stepped off the elevator. The holding area was entirely different from any other hospital waiting room he'd been in before. The walls were splashed with bright reds and blues; every piece of text on the walls pointing patrons in the proper direction was sketchy and slipshod, designed to look as though a child had written them.

He could see even from a distance that the coffee table at the center of a group of couches and chairs was littered with magazines such as "Highlights" and "American Girl" complete with battered versions of favorite childhood books. He even spotted a table in the corner that had crayons and drawing paper, teeny-tiny chairs pushed haphazardly around the corners.

But, Marshall didn't have the luxury of taking in every waking detail. He had expected to find both Brandi and Peter wringing their hands, lying in wait for the diagnosis, but it was only his sister-in-law that he saw. His heart sank seeing her with her head in her hands where she perched on a drab, grey couch. Marshall was grateful there weren't a lot of other people around, minus the night nurse sitting at the desk. The only other expectantly waiting individuals were some grandparent-types over in the corner, both of which seemed to be giving Brandi her space.

Once close enough, Marshall could ascertain that Brandi was sobbing into her hands, her blonde head trembling as muffled cries sounded from where her mouth was pressed against her knees. Knowing that she wouldn't have seem him arrive, he settled for speaking before touching her, not wanting to startle her too profusely.

"Brandi?" he didn't have to work very hard to make his voice soft and gentle; it came naturally because he was already feeling a large degree of mercy for this woman who'd seemingly had her world turned upside-down overnight.

She looked up in a flash, fixing Marshall with hugely bloodshot eyes; he couldn't even find the normally crystalline shade of blue because they were so red and watery. Patches of rose-colored flesh were high in her cheeks and her hair was matted and tangled from where she'd been resting on her legs. But, at seeing Marshall, only the minimalist degree of relief flitted in her face.

"Oh…M-Marshall…" she quavered throatily, clumsily climbing to her feet and throwing her arms around him at once; he adjusted her stance so her head was against his chest, sparing her the task of facing the outside world. "I…I don't kn-know what's wrong with her…she's s-so sick and s-so little…"

Every phrase came out disjointed and broken as Brandi made no attempt to get a hold of herself. Marshall shushed her quietly, much as he would've done with Lizzie, and patted her back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.

"I'm sure the doctors are working diligently to figure out what the problem is," he assured her sensibly. "It sounds like you did the right thing by bringing her in."

"A…and…her p-poor leg…" Brandi continued to blubber, like she didn't even notice Marshall's pacification. "I…I can't believe she fell when P-Peter was standing…right there…"

"Where is Peter?" Marshall queried, feeling the woman lift her face slightly to get some air. "Isn't he here?" he knew they'd been bickering as of late, but he couldn't imagine they wouldn't put aside their differences for an occasion such as this.

"He went back with Holly…" she informed him, slipping shakily out of the taller's grasp and swiping at her eyes. "I wanted to go too but…" she shook her head. "Seeing her like that…feeling so bad and hurting so much…I just couldn't watch anymore…"

Marshall made an instantaneous decision not to bring up how odd he found this view, and he couldn't imagine what Mary would've said. He tried to see this from Brandi's vantage point; she wasn't used to death and destruction the way that the two inspectors were. This was all new to her, and experiencing her child's unbelievable pain for the first time had to be daunting. It wasn't as though she was thinking only of herself and her needs. Besides, it was probably best for her to get a grip before she saw Holly, because this attitude would only scare her.

"Okay well, she has her dad with her; that'll make her feel better," was eventually Marshall's comment.

"Oh, Marshall…" she moaned, dropping back onto the couch and looking still more distraught. He settled himself beside her and waited for her to go on. "This is so terrible; I-I can't handle this…" a loud sniffle proceeded this thought.

He laid a hand on her shoulder, "Try to think positive," he encouraged. "You don't know what the problem is yet; you've left Holly with people who will be able to get to the bottom of the illness."

Still, she seemed not to hear him, "This is so unfair. It's so unfair. She's supposed to be happy and playing and being a little girl and instead she's in this awful place…" Brandi gestured indistinctly around the room, designating the hospital as hell on earth.

"I know it's hard," Marshall claimed sympathetically, kneading the tight muscles in her shoulder in hopes that she would stop weeping all over her jeans; he was bemused that she'd managed to change out of her pajamas before coming to the ER. "With any luck, she won't be here for very long and you'll get to take care of her at home."

Brandi was stuck on doomsday, not that Marshall could blame her, "I don't know what I'm gonna do if she has to stay here. With Christmas and her birthday coming up…" the mention of Holly's birth made her descend into hysterics all over again.

Marshall graduated to putting his arm all the way around her and fishing in his pocket for a handkerchief with which she could blow her nose. It was awkward, trying to unearth the cloth while trying to be a comfort at the same time, but he managed to make it work.

"Christmas and the subsequent birthday are almost two weeks away yet," he reminded her. "Kids tend to have a fighting spirit unrivaled by most adults. I'm sure Holly will pull through."

Of course, Marshall was not sure of this at all, and it was something he definitely couldn't have said to Mary – she hated promises that were unable to be kept. But, Brandi was different. She thrived on another's apparent knowledge, no matter how faulty. This was something Marshall had come to learn about her very quickly.

And while it didn't entirely do the trick this time around, it did stop her snuffling momentarily while she took another solid stab at wiping her eyes.

"But…Holly hasn't had to do much… 'fighting,'" she contradicted messily. "Not like Liz and Benji."

Marshall was willing to overlook his sister-in-law's quirky name for his son to get to the center of what she was trying to say.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, from the second they were born they had to try and survive," Brandi clarified with a gulp. "They know how to stay alive – like you and Mary."

He brushed aside the compliment and turned it into something sunnier, "But, that's what I'm saying," he insisted. "The twins didn't know up from down in their first few hours, but they had that killer instinct just instilled somewhere deep within. I swear, all kids have it. They all do, and they keep it so long as no one tells them 'no.' It's the doubts of everyone around them that make them think they can't conquer obstacles head-on." He was going somewhere with this, and intended to make it known. "If you believe Holly can beat this thing – whatever it is – than she'll believe it too."

He fully expected Brandi to shoot this down, to muddle onward with her negative outlook, but she fed him a watery, wobbly smile. It forced Marshall to do the same, glad he had provided some measure of help.

"I hope you're right," she croaked feebly. "Where's Mary?" she suddenly switched topics abruptly. "She didn't want to come?"

"No, that's not it," Marshall guaranteed at once. "You know, I just answered the phone…" he gave a nonchalant shrug. "And, the kids get themselves snoozing a lot more peacefully when the old battleaxe is on duty," he was hoping to lighten the mood with the teasing.

Brandi's gaze floated to the ground in something resembling shame.

"She probably thinks it's my fault that Holly got sick."

Marshall couldn't help feeling shocked by this statement, but did his best not to show it.

"Of course she doesn't," he hoped this was just Brandi feeling guilt, and not some sort of subliminal hint concerning his wife's outlook about her baby sister. "She understands these things happen. She'll be here snarking it up before you know it."

"Yeah, I bet…" Brandi grumbled, clearly gunning for someone to cast her dark cloud over. "Complaining, more like. About how I don't spend enough time with Holly and how I'm always chucking her with you guys…"

"You know how much we love Holly," Marshall reminded her pleasantly, tipping his chin downward so he could see her eyes, which were still streaming with tears. "And she adores Lizzie; it's so nice for her to have something close to a sister, what with Ben running around ridding the world of evil," again, he tried to lighten the mood.

But, Brandi wouldn't bite. She just shook her head and pressed her hands over her mouth, wetness leaking out around the edges of her fingernails, like rivulets of a river wending its way through the mountains. Marshall doubted she was really angry at Mary, but looking for something else to focus on. However, his focus was soon divided as he got a better look at the other woman now that she had gone silent.

It could be attributed to the desolation she was currently experiencing, but Marshall couldn't help noticing that Brandi didn't look all that well herself. Aside from her blotchy cheeks, her bones seemed sunken and gaunt, as though she'd have trouble keeping color in her face without crying. While the tangled hair could be waved away since she'd just come from bed, he also spotted that she was thinner than he remembered. Had she lost weight? Brandi was very skinny already, so there was no need for her to be dieting or overindulging in exercise – and Brandi was not one who exercised to begin with.

Could her unkempt appearance have to do with the arguments she'd been having with Peter as of late? Marshall had refused to pry, not knowing what had the couple at odds, simply chalking it up to mid-marital quarreling. But, had it gotten worse recently, thus sparking this lifestyle change in Brandi?

He acted on this revelation by trying to feed her, both for something to do and because his observation urged him to bulk her up.

"Can I get you something to eat?" he murmured while Brandi sighed and blew her bangs out of her face. "I'm sure the cafeteria isn't far, and you have your cell; Peter could call with an update if we weren't here…"

"I'm not hungry," Brandi claimed predictably. And then she took an unexpected turn, "This reminds me of when Mary was in the hospital after she got shot, except they don't have crossword puzzles up here – just mazes inside those 'Highlights,'" she pointed to the coffee table.

"I could probably hawk a newspaper from downstairs," Marshall offered, glancing around. "If you want."

Brandi just hunched her shoulders indifferently, "It's okay. I'm no good at puzzles anyway. Sometimes, I don't think I'm any good at anything…"

Marshall suddenly understood what she was looking for here, although he didn't imagine his mollifying would have much effect on her fragile psyche. She was pretty hell-bent on being miserable, not that he was judging. He began to wish Peter would reemerge with some news, whether positive or negative.

"Brandi, you didn't do anything wrong," the man leaned inward, shielding them from the sleepy grandparents across the room. "Kids get sick – accidents happen. I can't tell you how many times I had to try and convince Mary of that – or some version of that – when she was pregnant with the twins. You Shannon women are set on thinking you're responsible for everything," with a hint of joking on the end.

Brandi suddenly turned to him, shiny and sparkling as ever, blinking fast and wagging her head from side-to-side. This might have been what she wanted to hear, but Marshall knew he was right in assuming the reassurances wouldn't be of much help.

"I've never been a good mom, Marshall. Not like Mary…"

"You guys are different," he surged onward. "Different is neither good nor bad."

"I'm always screwing up," she moaned.

"Brandi, listen…" they were speaking in the shadows now, Marshall pulling the blonde inward by her far shoulder, knocking their heads together. "You're the only mom Holly has, and you're the only mom she wants. Nobody can ever take that title away from you, and certainly not just because she contracted a virus or broke a bone."

"This whole thing is such a _mess_," she couldn't halt her rhapsodizing. "Seriously…on top of everything else with me and Peter…" when she shook her head, little droplets flew from her eyes and landed like beads of dew on Marshall's shirt.

"Do you want to talk about what's going on with you and Peter?" he proposed carefully, wanting to sound merely curious or charitable, not pushy.

Brandi seemed mildly bemused that he was aware anything was going on at all, but Marshall wondered in the back of his mind how she thought anybody could miss the signs. On the off chance Brandi and Peter were in the same room together these days, they either didn't speak at all or bickered until Mary told them to shut up. Marshall had always hoped they weren't that way at home, because that was nothing Holly needed to live through, but now was his chance to find out.

"No…" she finally said in a low voice. "Nothing, I mean…stupid stuff…"

Marshall could tell from her evasive attitude that it was not 'nothing' at all, but he was saved from prodding further by the sound of clicking high heels on the linoleum. He glanced upward, pondering who would be joining them besides the older couple in the shadows.

Jinx came tottering into view; the man could scarcely believe he had neglected to ask Brandi if she'd informed her mother of this unfortunate event. Now, he realized, this was a silly mistake. Jinx and Brandi had always been thick as thieves; it was wired into the younger daughter to bellow for her mother anytime anything went awry.

And, Marshall was not the least bit offended when Brandi flung him to one side because she jumped up so quickly, elbowing him into the armrest.

"Mom…!" her voice came out in a croak and no sooner had Jinx set her purse down than Brandi flung her arms around her neck and the watershed of tears returned in full force.

Marshall stood as well, stuffing his hands in his pockets and trying to be inconspicuous, not wanting to interrupt. He was glad Jinx was here; she would be full of reasons why Holly's condition was no reason to fret. All those reasons might be bald-faced lies, but Brandi never seemed to mind when in disarray. She was already at it as Marshall considered, patting her daughter's back and stroking her coarse hair.

"What if something really-_really_ awful happened to her?"

"Now-now honey…" Jinx crooned. "You mustn't think that way – everything will be just fine. Holly is a tough little girl; I never knew some pesky fever to tear you down. It's not gonna do anything to my granddaughter either…"

"But mom, she _fell_ really hard…"

"I know, angel," she laid a kiss on her temple. "But, she has you and she has Peter to make her all better. Peter is here, isn't he?" she suddenly inquired, much as Marshall had, forcing Brandi to let go of her so she could look around. "Don't tell me he stayed home…"

There was a hint of disapproval there, for Marshall was aware that his mother-in-law knew all about the squabbles taking place. But, Brandi just huffed and came close to rolling her eyes before answering.

"Of course he didn't stay home, mom," she insisted almost churlishly. "He's with Holly; they were gonna do something to um…to…" the correct terminology seemed to be having trouble getting out. "To…stabilize her leg and then run a few tests…I think…" she didn't sound very sure, but this was where Marshall could contribute once more.

"That's pretty standard procedure," he chimed in quietly. "I imagine that once they get her leg squared away, they'll do a blood draw and maybe some x-rays…" he hoped this wasn't too much information. "Then they'll probably let her rest for awhile; they don't like to over-stimulate kids that young."

Neither Jinx nor Brandi asked how he knew all this, given that Ben and Lizzie hadn't been in the hospital since they were born, and while they'd certainly had their share of needle pricks, it hadn't been for anything like this. Marshall was familiar with the ins and outs of pediatrics due to a few witnesses having been rushed to the emergency room; he was fairly acquainted with protocol.

Before Brandi could blubber over everything Holly was experiencing behind the double doors, Jinx seized his rundown in both hands, as though hoping it would bring relief.

"You see? They know exactly what they're doing back there; you just have to wait…"

Marshall was sure Brandi was going to have an excuse for why this was untrue as well, but at that moment a nurse emerged and started chattering with the receptionist behind the desk. It was apparent at once that the distraught mother recognized her and didn't hesitate to hound her for an update.

"She was here when Holly was brought in…" she pointed and wiggled free of Jinx's grip. "I'm gonna go see if she knows anything…"

Without waiting for sanction from the other two, she scurried off, leaving Jinx and Marshall all by their lonesome. Out of earshot of Brandi, the elder woman sighed tiredly and seemed to notice for the first time that Marshall was there. She smiled weakly and patted his arm in recognition.

"Hello Marshall, dear…" she murmured somewhat benevolently. "How are you?"

"Better than Brandi, obviously," he responded in kind. "And yourself?"

"Well, of course I'm worried about poor Holly…" Jinx gestured to the hatch granting visitors admittance to the rooms beyond while Brandi listened attentively to the nurse she'd snatched by the elbow. "No one should have to go through something like this, least of all a tiny little girl…"

"My sentiments exactly," Marshall concurred while bobbing his head. "Mary's home with the kids," he volunteered. "She sends her best wishes."

Jinx's smile was a little grimmer this time, her eyes with Brandi, "Something tells me she's counting her blessings right now."

Marshall knew she was referring to his wife's previously manic obsession with their own children, with the preoccupation that something just like this would occur in their precious, fragile lives. And though both of them knew that Mary loved Holly just as she loved Ben and Lizzie, there was always a measure of relief in knowing it was not your offspring falling prey to such ill fortune.

"Yes…" he agreed once more. "I imagine she is."

XXX

**A/N: The early chapters are somewhat short (short for me anyway!) but later on they get a lot longer! I never know if that is a good or a bad thing, but we will see!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Love-love-love for the reviews! I even had a new reviewer, which is always fun! I hope I have kept this interesting! Like I said upfront, this story centers on the darkest version of Brandi I've ever written, which was hard for me because I do like Brandi, but it's good to branch out! I don't even know if "dark" is the right word, but I don't want to give anything away.**

XXX

Mary didn't have the sensation that she had been asleep for very long before being shaken from her slumber by a pair of gentle, minute fingers. Even before she opened her eyes, she knew it was still dark outside, meaning it couldn't have been earlier than eight in the morning. With this depressing thought and feeling exceptionally groggy, the woman moaned low in her throat, wanting to stay concealed beneath her warm blankets.

Instinct made her roll over to the right, and she immediately felt cold, bare sheets. This reminded her, as though on super-speed, where Marshall had gone and the fact that he wasn't back yet. Unless that was him nudging her shoulder. But, that couldn't be – the hands weren't strong enough.

"Mom? …Mom, are you awake?"

No, it definitely wasn't Marshall.

Resigning herself for the second time that day to opening her eyes far before she was ready, Mary blinked and saw a shadowed outline of Ben perched on the carpet, fingers pausing in their conquest once his mother had opened her eyes.

"Ben…" she groaned, trying not to sound too exasperated, but she wasn't as skilled as Marshall at hiding her annoyance when she wanted to rest. She peered intently at the clock at her bedside, "It's five in the morning, buddy…" this wasn't a pertinent fact, as Ben couldn't tell time. "Listen…" she swallowed, willing to bargain. "If you want to turn cartoons on in the living room, go ahead; just keep the volume down…"

"That's not it," he whispered stealthily.

Mary knew at once that whatever 'it' was, it was definitely pressing on his mind, because few things could distract him from early-morning cartoons, especially when given permission by his mother.

"Well then, what?" she wanted to know.

He was quick once she asked, "Do you think I should've gone with dad?"

"Why would you do that?" Mary pushed as she elbowed up onto her pillow.

"Well, 'cause…I mean, Holly might need super powers to make her all better, and dad and Aunt Brandi and Grandma don't have super powers…" he rationalized seriously. "Or Uncle Peter either. Dad has _special_ powers, not _super_ powers…"

Mary opted to wave aside mention of Marshall's 'special powers' because she didn't have the faintest idea what this meant or what notions her husband had put in their son's head. She was too wrapped up in Ben's unwavering belief that he really did move heaven and earth. She oftentimes wondered if the 'Bullet' persona was all for show, but this proved he possessed some awareness deep down that told him he was as big and brave as they came.

"Benny…" she sighed; it wasn't an affectionate moniker she donned him by very often, but it seemed appropriate right now. Kicking her blankets out of the way, she held out her arms, lifting him into the bed with her. "Did you wake your sister when you left your room?" she diverted momentarily while Ben snuggled himself under the comforter on Marshall's side.

"No…" he insisted. "I was real quiet."

"Well, that's something," Mary also settled herself back into bed, looking into Ben's face horizontal from her own.

His eyes were so very-very blue, even in the dark. They were like two shimmering jewels; a plunderer's bounty, the treasure at the bottom of the canyon. She wondered sometimes if they were even bluer than Marshall's.

Right now, he was waiting for her response, and very intently at that. His ponderous look reminded her of Marshall as well.

"I really should've gone…" he mumbled while Mary was thinking. "Superheroes don't ever stay home when someone's in trouble…"

"You know, Ben…" Mary cut him off, running her nails through his mop of dark hair. "You were pretty busy protecting Lizzie when Holly got sick, so it's not like you were just sitting around sleeping," she made her voice sound slightly silly, so as to keep things light.

"But, I think Holly needed me _more_ than Lizzie this time," her massage of his scalp didn't seem to be working in her attempt to put him under. "I don't get why some superheroes can be in two places at once, but I can't."

He looked so genuinely thoughtful, with his face all screwed up in concentration that Mary almost laughed if not for knowing he was so serious. She continued to pull her fingers through each strand of hair she could snag, automatically and without direction, like clockwork.

As it was, Mary was unsure how to respond. Marshall was better at this kind of thing; he always knew exactly what to say to convince their son he could do and be anything he wanted, while Mary just tried to avoid lying while allowing Ben to reach his dreams.

"I think its how some superheroes can be invisible and some can fly, but some can't. Being in two places at once is the same way," she finally came up with.

Ben's eyes flickered, "And, I _can_ fly, or I'm gonna learn, so that'll be something I can do…"

Mary just smirked, but didn't say anything. It didn't matter, because Ben was off again.

"Something real bad might happen to Holly because I wasn't there to help her out…" he grumbled, clearly ashamed of himself, but the woman had no intentions of letting that continue.

"Let me tell you something…" she all-but interrupted, smoothing his locks now rather than stroking them. "Did you know that doctors are kind of like superheroes?"

In spite of the dankness, Mary could see her boy raise his eyebrows.

"They are? How?" one brow stayed quirked, displaying his skepticism.

"Well, most doctors are really-really smart…"

"As smart as dad?" Ben interspersed.

Mary bobbed her head, even lying sideways, "Smart in a different way. They go to school and learn how to cure people."

"Not everybody," he corrected her. "Not everybody gets cured."

"That's true. Not everybody," she didn't consider her previous statement fibbing at all, because she knew Ben would add his own touch before she could get there. "But, they cured you."

Now he was really interested. Mary was pretty certain there wasn't going to be anymore sleeping tonight, and she envied Lizzie her peaceful snoozing, provided she didn't have any more night terrors. They were indeed lucky they were coming up on Saturday, and while the kids might nap unintentionally that afternoon, Mary knew she didn't stand a chance, not with Holly in the hospital. On the other hand, she was used to functioning without sleep between WITSEC and the insomnia she'd dealt with during pregnancy.

"They cured me from what?" Ben prompted in a hushed voice. "There's something wrong with me?"

Mary's intention wasn't to alarm him, and she doubted he really was. Lizzie would've been in conniptions, yes, but not Ben. He was more awed than worried.

"There's nothing wrong with you _now_…" she clarified, poking a finger in his chest, causing him to shift and pull the blanket up around his chin. "But, you know that story Lizzie always wants to hear about when you guys were born?"

"Yeah…"

"You know it's true, right?"

Ben didn't look overly convinced; "Well…yeah…" his eyes diverted and his attention strayed from Mary. "But, Lizzie likes when you pretend it's like a fairytale, so I thought maybe you were making some of it up."

It was a fact that Mary sometimes fabricated the twins' birth for creative purposes, so as to not frighten her daughter too severely with tales of blood and needles. But, she was surprised to learn that Ben thought most of the tale was engineered so craftily. In response to his inquisition, she shook her head.

"You and Liz couldn't breathe very well when you first came along. There was a lot of blood, and you got cold really easily…"

Ben's mouth opened into a perfect circle, "I couldn't _breathe_? But…but…" he began to sputter, forgetting the time entirely and wiggling upward on Marshall's pillow. "But…you gotta breathe to stay alive…"

"Your dad's taught you well," Mary muttered as an aside, but Ben ignored her.

"How'd I stay alive if I couldn't breathe? How did Lizzie?"

"That's the thing, Ben…" his mother presented carefully, and she nudged closer to him, pressing his body next to hers. She loved the way he felt when he was warm and cozy, like when he'd been a newborn and she'd wept all over his tiny round head. "Those doctors that were in the hospital with you and Liz fixed you up. They figured out how to help you breathe, so you stopped bleeding, and so you'd heat up…"

Now he cocked his head to the left, making it harder for Mary to hold him, but she didn't give up. She was towing him inward, guiding him so he lay perfectly against her upper body. Her boy, he would always be.

"And…so…they fixed you too then, huh?"

"Me? What about me?" Mary wasn't sure what he meant.

"Well, didn't it hurt when they had to cut your belly open to take us out?"

She was unable to hide her mystification, narrowing her eyes, "Who told you about that?"

Mary wanting to tell the truth was one thing, but that didn't mean she didn't omit all the facts once in awhile, and she couldn't ever recall having confided in her children just _how_ they came to be in the world.

But, Ben was swift, "Dad. He said not to say it in front of Lizzie, 'cause she'd get scared."

Well, this could not be denied. Lizzie was extremely sensitive, and had been since the entrance they were so candidly discussing. Suddenly, Mary became curious, because it still baffled her how two kids reared under the same two parents at the exact same time could be at such opposite ends of the spectrum.

"It doesn't scare you?" she questioned neutrally. "When you think about me having to be sliced open and all?"

"No," he stated plainly, so plainly, in fact, it was impossible to think he was concealing his real feelings. "I know you're okay now. Besides, how else were Lizzie and I gonna be here unless they cut your tummy?"

Mary gave another grin at this, reveling in the precious minds of those that were so young.

"Did it hurt though?" he reiterated, obviously hankering for details.

"Um…" she sighed and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, contented now that they were snuggled chest-to-chest. "It didn't hurt when it was happening because the doctors gave me some medicine so that I wouldn't feel what they were doing."

"Wow…" Ben breathed, impressed.

"But, it hurt pretty badly afterward, because they'd moved my insides around quite a bit, and I had a lot of stitches."

"Tommy Preston at school got stitches in his lip one time," the child took a diversion, as five-year-olds were known to do. "He said he cried because they gave him a big shot before they put them in."

"Yeah, they did that for me too. Kind of."

This kept Ben momentarily satisfied, also starting to settle in now that he was in his mother's arms. Mary felt him borrow his head against her ribcage like a bunny. Again, she was reminded forcefully of his time as a baby, when he'd known nothing but his sister's identical form nestled beside his own, mama's tender hands, and daddy's sweet, soothing voice. It could be because she was being asked to recap the initial experience, but something else brought the recollections on as well. Something that was just Ben.

Mary blindly kept up the rhythm she was playing in his hair, thinking it would help him catch a few more zs, though she was now wide awake. Evidently, it wasn't going to have quite the effect she had hoped for though.

"Mama?" his voice sounded small and distant in the dark room.

"Hmm?" perhaps she had more patience than she'd factored in.

"What if…I mean…" now he was muffled, lips against her pajama top. "Say Holly gets way-_way_ sick…she'll be real sad if I didn't do _something_ for her…"

Although Mary sometimes claimed to be closer to Ben than to Lizzie because she figured him to be more like herself, this was proof there was a huge part of Marshall embedded deep within that need to protect and fight to the bitter end. Underneath, he hadn't ventured to his parent's bedroom just to tout his superhero skills, but to use them to shelter his younger cousin; inside the splendor, he was still a very humble little boy.

"Ben…" wiggling one arm free, she tipped his chin upward, mesmerized by those eyes for a second time. "I promise, if I think of anything you can do for Holly, I'll let you know, okay? Just knowing that you want to help would probably make her feel better."

His lower lip was in danger of jiggling out, but he kept it in check, "That's not enough," he claimed quietly.

"Yes it is, buddy," she swore. "It really is. And, I also promise I'll tell you what's wrong with her as soon as I can after I find out, all right?"

"You really don't know?" Ben wondered, sounding slightly aghast that the blonde wasn't already in the loop.

"I won't know until dad calls or comes home. Aunt Brandi and Uncle Peter may have to wait awhile before they find out what happened. I just know she had a high fever…"

"That's where your forehead gets real hot, right?"

"Yeah. And that she injured her leg falling off the loft ladder in her bedroom."

"But…wasn't she being careful?" Ben powered on, undaunted in his questionnaire.

It was somewhat amusing that he would ask something like this, at least to Mary, since he was never careful and had-had too many close shaves to count with the way he leapt off furniture with the greatest of ease. She had always figured that she and Marshall's urgings that he watch his step were in vain; he never seemed to hear.

"I'm sure she was, but accidents happen. And since she was sick, she was probably a little bit dizzy and didn't have her balance like she usually would," Mary explained, as though they were having this conversation over coffee, like it wasn't the wee hours before dawn. "Try not to worry about her too much, okay man? The doctors really will do everything they can to help her."

Ben hesitated for a moment, and then proved he was not thoroughly persuaded, "Are you sure I wouldn't do a better job?"

And they were back where they'd begun. Mary had hoped when she'd regaled him with tales of his birth, even including the gory details, he would back off, but no. His mind was centered, and very firmly at that. Ben, far more than Lizzie, always tested her need for compulsive truth-telling. There was a fine line in doling out unvarnished reality and giving him clearance to play pretend and imagine to his heart's content. She didn't want to take away his thirst for make believe; it would like taking away his childhood.

To avoid answering on the spot, Mary adjusted the pillow behind his head and smoothed his thermal top. He sighed while she coddled, crossing his arms under his neck and waiting. It was hard to know what to say when she wasn't even certain on what supposed 'super powers' Ben thought he possessed.

"Here's what I think…" she eventually got out, swiping his bangs off his forehead. "I think that for now we need to let the doctors handle the really big, important stuff, all right?" she kept her tone easy, but somewhat firm.

Ben recognized the harmony and nodded, "All right…"

"But, there are a lot of things you can do for Holly that the doctors can't. You could make her a card, draw her some of your special pictures; we could take her some of her favorite snacks when she feels like eating…"

"Could I go and see her soon?" he wondered eagerly.

Mary balked, "Not right away, but maybe in a few days," she couldn't pin anything down without knowing whether Holly was contagious or overly susceptible to infection. "You and Lizzie and dad and I will figure out something we can do for her. You and your sister always have really good ideas."

And this, it would seem, finally gratified Ben for the time being. Mary saw him nod his acceptance and ease up onto his elbow, much as she'd done when he'd first come in the room.

"Okay…" he agreed. "Can I go watch cartoons now?"

Mary kept from laughing, but she did smile, "Go ahead, but don't turn it up too loud, okay?" she knew he'd need the reminder. "Let Lizzie get some more sleep. I'll be out in a little bit to get you something to eat."

Without another word, he swung himself off the end of the mattress, making a thump on the carpet as he pattered back to the door. Mary grabbed her phone to make sure she hadn't missed any messages or texts while she'd been asleep or talking to Ben, but there was nothing there. Engrossed in her hunt, she didn't notice Ben take pause in the frame. It wasn't until he spoke that she realized he was lingering.

"Mom?"

Mary glanced up, "What?"

She watched him chew on his lower lip, watched his eyes skirt left to right, like he was fighting some internal battle. He wasn't sure if he should speak his mind or hold back, because there was a chance he didn't want an answer to his very pressing question.

"You know I'm a real superhero, right? I…I'm not just pretending."

The falter on the second sentence convinced Mary he wasn't as sure as he feigned being, and honesty aside, she knew this was one of those times that little white lies were far more painless than the cold, hard facts.

"Yeah…" she grinned and felt her head move up and down. "Of course I know that."

XXX

**A/N: I haven't really been able to write Mary with a little boy of her own since my days of "The Sam Saga." Of course, Jesse and Max have been there along the way (even the visions of Jamie from this series,) but nobody quite like Ben! XOXO**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I cannot tell you how much I love reading your reviews. They are so kind and I so appreciate them. To Sparky She-Demon: Mark was Jamie's father. I am sure this will not make sense when I try to explain it, but "Jamie" was essentially "Norah." The first story in this series, "Empty Arms" began in the middle of season four, and since I had Mary miscarry the baby that on the show eventually became Norah, I made it a different baby (sounds so confusing LOL). So, Jamie belonged to Mark as a result of the one night stand that happened on the show. I hope that makes sense!**

**Also, do forgive any inaccuracies on my part in this chapter – my medical knowledge is not extensive, but I did my best!**

XXX

By the time daybreak fully approached Albuquerque's wintry pink horizon, the cartoons had been turned off and Ben had fallen asleep in Mary's lap on the couch, Lizzie still slumbering soundly behind the bedroom door. Mary had covered her son with a blanket once he'd begun to doze during one of those awful kiddy shows she still couldn't muster, and she'd turned the set off completely once she'd heard him breathing serenely through his nose. On the off chance she caught a few winks; she didn't want the blare of animation to rouse Ben once again.

However, it wasn't 'Phineas and Ferb' that jerked her back to reality, but the sound of the front door opening and closing. It was apparent even before she was fully conscious that Marshall was trying to be quiet, but it was moot at this point. Any semblance of rest was asking for a lot.

"Mmm…" Mary groaned, remembering Ben's heavy head in her lap and doing her best not to stir him. "Marshall?"

She'd nodded off sitting up so she had a crick in her neck, even though she'd tried to lean against the couch cushions. Before she could even blink and reorient herself with her surroundings, Marshall had swooped down upon her lethargic form and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Hey…sorry…" he whispered, just a blurry, hazy form slowly solidifying in Mary's sleep dusted eyes. "I tried not to make too much noise, but I didn't know you were out here…"

"It's fine…" she grunted, finding it harder to sit upright what with Ben sprawled on her stomach. "What time is it?"

"Almost eight o'clock," he reported. "Jinx offered to sit with Holly so Brandi could try to get some sleep. Peter ran home to grab a few things; I offered, but he insisted. After that, there wasn't much I could do so I opted to see how and you and the soldiers held up."

This was a lot of information so early in the day, and yet it told Mary very little in the grand scheme of things. All she knew was that Holly was still in the hospital, and that she was likely going to be for some time yet, if Peter was planning on foraging for supplies at the house.

Intending to get to the bottom of things, Mary fluttered her lashes, attempting to get Marshall in sharper focus. Up close, he looked slightly weary, probably due to lack of sleep on his end as well. His eyes were duller and greyer than usual, lines drawn in the stubble on his cheeks. He'd thrown on a pair of unwashed jeans in his excursion from the house, but the light blue undershirt he'd donned under his pajamas was his only top, minus the coat he'd already removed. What was truly telling was his uncombed hair; it was limp and rather unkempt, particularly for Marshall.

But, she skirted all these things and, mindful of Ben, stretched the ache in her back before interrogating her husband.

"So, what's going on?" Mary launched into the examination at once. "What does Holly have?"

Marshall exhaled slowly before spilling the beans, "Bacterial meningitis. And a fractured tibia."

"Oh man…" Mary breathed, knowing none of this was promising in the least. Against her will, she'd retained a great many factoids Marshall had hammered into her over the years, and something definitely stood out in this diagnosis. "Bacterial meningitis. That's the bad kind, right?"

"Essentially, yes. Though, thankfully, none of the doctors put it that way in front of Brandi and Peter," Marshall concurred. "Viral meningitis is far more common and much more slow-spreading. Bacterial meningitis can kill you alarmingly fast if it's not caught early."

Mary suddenly felt her heartbeat quicken upon hearing this. She knew Marshall wasn't trying to frighten her, and deep down she was aware that he would not have said this statement so calmly if there were any danger of death, but she needed to be sure.

Feeling much more awake now, "Are we looking at something that serious?" she murmured, barely moving her lips, just in case Ben was playing possum.

"It could be another hour or two before the doctors know if Holly is out of the woods, but she's responding well to antibiotics, so we last heard," he continued, a very looming figure above Mary on the sofa. "It does sound like they recognized the symptoms and were able to diagnose her fairly quickly, which is crucial."

"All right…" Mary raked her fingers through her bangs, feeling some measure of relief at Marshall's word, but it still sounded grave. "Okay. I was about to make the kids breakfast before I fell asleep," she switched gears speedily. "Come with me. Tell me more."

Marshall consented and moseyed off to the kitchen while Mary extracted herself from underneath Ben, who seemed to be getting more weighted by the day. It was no secret he'd always been sturdier than Lizzie, who seemingly had no more poundage than a sack of potatoes. Fortunately, she was successful in not waking him, and she readjusted his head on a throw pillow before shuffling after her man.

Too hungry for details to bother finding slippers for her freezing feet, she rooted around in some of the upper cabinets for food ideas. Marshall had already pulled down cups and glasses and had his head in the fridge looking for juice.

"So, did you see Holly or did they make you stay in the waiting room?" this was not essential, but Mary was still curious.

"I didn't see her," Marshall shook his head. "They only wanted three back at a time – parents plus one. I spent most of the night consoling Brandi, who found it too difficult to attend all the tests and successive IV administrations."

Predictably, Mary scowled at this news, "What? What in the world is she thinking? The kid needs her mother…" she even took pause in shaking a box of pancake mix to glower.

"She has her father," this was Marshall's tried-and-true response when it came to what Mary looked at as Brandi's glaring inadequacies, but it wore a little thin in this situation. "And besides, it's probably best that she wasn't with Holly during all the chaos. She was pretty inconsolable; it would've just upset Holly more, I fear."

"You and your excuses," Mary groused, but she didn't sound too angry. "She'll need to get over it. I can't imagine not being with…" she jerked her head at Ben intermittently. "Those two if something like this happened to them…"

Marshall chose not to broach that subject and moved on, "Anyway, if Holly's body can fight the infection, she'll just have to stay in the hospital for a bit to make sure she doesn't get run-down, plus they can't fix her leg until she's on the mend."

"Her tibia?" Mary questioned, turning a burner on to begin the pancake process, wondering if she had chocolate chips lying around somewhere. "That's like, the largest bone in your leg, isn't it?"

"It's bigger than the fibula," Marshall started pouring glasses of juice, orange for Ben and apple for Lizzie. "I've been trying to picture the way she must've fallen to fracture that bone, and it must've been very awkward indeed. I don't think it could've happened from the angle of that ladder unless Peter tried to catch her coming down."

Mary guessed that this was likely the case, which meant Peter was probably feeling a heady amount of guilt for adding injury on top of illness. Still, Mary certainly didn't look at him as culpable, and hoped that he would be able to ignore those nagging doubts in favor of caring for his daughter.

"Anyway, they're just trying to keep her leg stable until she's well enough to operate, and then they'll go in and mend the bone. I think it must be easier with a child that young not to load them up with medications – give them one IV, one time, and get it all done while they're sleeping."

"I suppose that makes sense," Mary figured, willing to trust whatever Marshall told her.

She didn't have a lot of experience with broken or even fractured bones. When she'd been shot, the main concern had been blood and oxygen loss causing brain damage; in any case, it would've been her organs that had been in jeopardy, not her bones. The same was true of Marshall when he'd had his shoulder pierced.

"Well…back to the meningitis…" she segued ungracefully, motioning for Marshall to pass her the butter from the fridge. "What's the difference between viral and bacterial?"

"Mostly the time thing," he claimed, now searching for extra glasses for him and Mary. "It spreads faster than viral meningitis and can cause all sorts of complications I won't bore you with at the moment."

It was so smart of him to know how much was too much and she nodded, inviting for him to continue.

"The symptoms manifest themselves like the flu, which is why it can go undetected and be life-threatening – headache, fever, neck pain, tingling, rash. The list goes on and on."

Mary stalled over the burner trying to take it all in, trying to imagine tiny Holly dealing with so many scary feelings all at once. Between that and such an awful limb injury, she had to be going nuts. It wasn't such a wonder Brandi was behaving in the same fashion, but it still irked Mary that she would confine herself to the waiting room when her daughter was experiencing so much upheaval. The older sister couldn't simply adopt the 'different strokes for different folks' mantra. She wasn't Marshall, despite molding many of her traits to match his.

"So…" she persisted after the quiet had wrapped them up momentarily. She stuck a hand on her hip and faced him where he was standing to guard his juice at the island, "Is this thing contagious? Will the kids be able to visit Holly? Ben was asking me last night."

"Well…" there was a definite shift in Marshall's tone, like he sensed Mary would be unhappy with whatever came next. "I didn't gather Holly would be able to entertain, and bacterial meningitis isn't as contagious in the touching, breathing sense. It's spread from close contact – kissing, and the like."

"Okay…" Mary narrowed her eyes uncertainly, making sure to keep one on her pancakes.

"As far as I know, the kids don't make a habit of kissing Holly, but…" he shrugged, waiting for the bomb that was Mary to go off. "But, they share cups and blankets and stuff all the time…" his spiel was quelled by the murderous look on his wife's face. "It wouldn't hurt to seek…preventative measures. For peace of mind."

"Preventative measures?" Mary repeated. "What does that mean?"

Marshall opened his mouth to answer her, through with darting amongst the issue, when a bedroom door sounded down the hall. Tiny feet approaching their space meant they had only seconds, and Mary spoke in a low hiss, like a snake.

"Can the kids get it or not?"

"There's a vaccine; I'm just saying…"

"DADDY!"

Marshall skittered away from Mary at once and pasted on a big, goofy smile as a bleary-eyed Lizzie picked up the pace to greet her father. Her corkscrew curls were all tangled and her purple pajama top was twisted, but it was clear that she couldn't have been more thrilled to see the man.

"Good morning, Lizzie Lou!" he boomed with his usual glee. "How'd you sleep after I left?" he hoisted her up and into his arms, abandoning the juice glasses all together. "Only good dreams, I hope."

"Uh-huh…" the little one bobbed her head. "I had one about a bright pink unicorn – he was wearing a top hat and he had a castle in the clouds…"

Had it been anybody else recounting this vision, Mary wouldn't have hesitated to pretend she was gagging from all the sweetness, but she kept her thoughts to herself and went back to the griddle.

"That sounds enchanting!" Marshall proclaimed while Lizzie ran her hands up and down his bristly cheeks. "Maybe you'll ride the unicorn in your next dream; what do you think?"

"I guess…" Lizzie shrugged and then went on. "Is Holly okay? Mama said she was really feeling bad…"

Marshall bounced her energetically on his hips, "Well, you know, she's still not feeling very good, but if we give her a little more time she might start doing better," it was basically what he'd said to Mary, but with a twist. "I'll tell her you were thinking about her though."

"Were you gone _all night long_?" the child was wide-eyed in thinking about her father toiling away while it was still dark out. "Without any sleep or anything?"

"I'm like the energizer bunny," Marshall puffed out his chest. "I run on batteries, not sleep."

"Do not!" Lizzie shrieked, her mouth open, eyes twinkling at Marshall's humor. "Where would you keep your batteries if you did?"

She was pleased she had stumped the man, but Mary just snorted, envisioning all sorts of crevices Marshall could hoard batteries. Upon hearing her scoff, Lizzie turned her head around and addressed the blonde for the first time that morning. Mary didn't mind; she was used to her daughter fawning over her daddy.

"Are you making pancakes, mama?"

"Yes…" she leaned over for a quick kiss on the cheek. "With chocolate chips if I can find some…"

"I like the ones with blueberries."

"I'm not sure I have any blueberries, Liz," Mary admitted, and was then forced to ignore Lizzie's pout. "But, I actually want you to get dressed before you eat, because Delia's coming over. She's gonna take you and Ben out to the park for awhile."

Marshall inclined his eyebrows at this, not having been given knowledge of this development. But, he covered in front of Lizzie, all talk of vaccines forgotten. Instead, he patted her hair and pulled a few curls out with his fingers before going on.

"Dress warm, all right? Wear long sleeves, because it's chilly out," Marshall knew it was not really Lizzie who needed this reminder, but Ben, and yet he said it anyway out of routine. "Why don't you go wake up your brother?" he slipped her onto the floor, nodding toward the couch. "Once you two are dressed, we'll have breakfast."

Lizzie retreated without saying anything, off to rouse Ben so they could start the day. Both Mary and Marshall knew they could not have entrusted their son with the task of shaking Lizzie awake, but the girl was more cautious; it was unlikely Ben would be angry with his sister for getting him up. He never wanted to miss anything.

While the kids muttered and mumbled, Marshall sipped his water while Mary let the pancakes simmer in favor of brewing two mugs of coffee. Fiddling with the knobs and buttons, she listened with only half her usual attentiveness, knowing a cup of Joe was going to be needed by all this morning.

"So, calling in the reinforcements already, huh?" Marshall surmised from over his wife's shoulder. "Why did you feel it was pertinent to recruit Delia?"

"Because I'm gonna need to shower and head over to the hospital to sit with Brandi, and you haven't had any sleep – even your daughter noticed," Mary informed him. "You'll never go down if the kids are here, and it's not like Delia minds. She always jumps at the chance to watch them."

"Were you not listening to me just a few seconds ago?" Marshall was pretending to be pompous, the woman leaning with her back against the cabinets to face him once more. "I do not require sleep like most mortals of the world."

Mary guffawed, "Spare me, Poindexter. It's your son that has the super powers, remember?"

This brought her back to her and Ben's conversation from the night before. In the recesses of her mind, the parts of her mind that had been able to function that early in the day, she'd wanted to discuss Ben's aspirations with his father. It was a sticky situation, this 'superhero' business, but Mary came to the conclusion almost at once that now wasn't the time to beat it to death.

"Aren't we lucky to have Bullet looking out for us?" he mused with a smirk. "I don't know how we'd get by otherwise."

"Yeah-yeah…"

Mary was thinking how she'd salvage her time by achieving real rest, but she didn't say this out loud. She couldn't be complaining about her children, even a little bit, when her own niece – also someone's child – was all-but fighting for her life in the hospital. It would be too selfish, and while she'd never had to endure what Brandi was going through, she knew only too well how it felt to think your kid's life hung in the balance.

"Well, I just hope Delia is prepared for the task," Marshall was still chattering as Mary finished the coffee and practically gulped down her mug, even though it was far too hot, which scalded her tongue. "We've got a pair of spitfires on our hands these days."

"She's been able to handle it in the past," Mary recalled, thinking she was lucky that she had someone on her speed dial who was willing to watch the twins that wasn't a member of her family, seeing as how they were all occupied. Stan loved to, but was normally too busy, so Delia was the next best option. "She's a US Marshal for Christ's sake. She can bully a couple of five-year-olds."

"I don't envision there being much bullying."

"With Ben, don't be too sure," Mary was starting to hear his voice, meaning Lizzie had achieved success. "I'm gonna be watching him like a hawk now that I know how possible it is he can fall off that bunk bed – not to mention all the other furniture he's constantly flinging himself from."

"It was always _possible_, Mare," the taller declared, stepping over to the sink and grabbing his mug, for Mary had neglected to hand it to him. "He's a pretty limber kid; he usually has his wits about him. Don't obsess."

But, this was what Mary always did, and so it was fairly easy to disregard Marshall's admonition. The preoccupations of old from when she'd been pregnant – lack of breath, lack of swallow, lack of survival – had been replaced as the years had gone on by new fears. There were heads to be hit, fingers to be sliced, elbows to be scraped, hair to be pulled, and feelings to be hurt. The minefield of childhood was, in some ways, far more hazardous than that of a preemie.

"In any case, Delia knows her stuff," Marshall concluded when Mary had nothing to contribute.

It didn't matter anyway, because they were about to be joined by the final member of their family of four, although Mary couldn't help feeling that it seemed slightly empty without Holly, no matter how surly or quiet she typically was. She was over so often; Mary and Marshall were both accustomed to setting an extra place at the table. The thought made her aunt sad, and she suddenly wanted to get to the hospital as soon as she could.

"Mom! Hey mom!"

"Morning, sleepyhead," she drawled around dregs of coffee, watching Ben race into the kitchen with Lizzie hot on his heels.

He paid her no mind, "Lizzie said Delia's coming over."

"Lizzie's right."

"Can I wear my cape to the park?"

Mary did not know why he bothered asking. He wore his capes everywhere. He had three of them, one store-bought in bright red with special Velcro adhesives that could only be worn with a matching T-shirt. The other two were blue and green, fashioned out of old sheets and held in place with safety pins.

"Not the red," Mary was forced to disallow the first choice. "The shirt's in the laundry, but you can wear one of the other ones."

Ben frowned, "Nuts." He even stomped his foot right comically, glaring at the ground, which made him uncanny of his mother. "The red makes me go fastest."

"Tough break, spark," Marshall was sympathetic, probably looking to get his say-so in, since Ben hadn't even seemed to notice he was in the room.

"It wouldn't make a difference anyway, bud," the blonde reached to pour herself a second cup of coffee, having made short work of the first, her pancakes still sizzling away. "It's too cold for just a T-shirt; you'll need a jacket."

She ought to have known this was going to be a non-starter, "But superheroes don't wear _jackets_!" he moaned, Lizzie watching him curiously. "This _stinks_! I don't need a jacket; I won't get cold! I have my muscles to keep me warm!"

He flexed ominously, Marshall looking politely amused while Mary shook her head, hardly in the mood to debate this topic.

"Ben, don't argue now; come on…"

But, before they could get into anything truly heated, there was a knock on the front door, splitting their words right in two. Mary was suddenly aware that she and Marshall – not to mention the twins – were hardly looking the part of hosts. Mary was still in her pajamas, her hair uncombed and lank. She knew she'd told Lizzie to get dressed, but that had been put on hold to inform Ben of the day's events.

"What time did you tell Delia?" Marshall questioned, glancing at the clock on the microwave.

"I didn't know what time you'd be back; I said around 8:30…"

And, it was already half past, so Marshall sauntered to the door to let the other woman in. She was her usual perky self, bringing with her a gust of wind and wearing a long, twirling winter coat, her thousand-watt smile firmly in place. She carried two plastic sacks in her right hand, a purse over her arm.

"Good morning to you inspectors!" she bellowed to the room at large. "Bit nippy out there today – very brisk! But, it'll be perfect and sunny at the playground!"

Mary was trying to flatten her hair in her reflection from the toaster and wasn't listening; she left it to Marshall to deal with greetings.

"Thanks so much for doing this, Delia…" he was grateful right at the top of the conversation, taking care to shake hands even though they saw one another every day. "With everything that happened last night, it's a big help…"

"Oh, of course, of course! No trouble at all!" this was accompanied by much gesturing of her hands.

"Well, if you get a call from the office, just ring me up; I can come and get the kids…"

"Don't you worry, Marshall…"

But, as it was with two young children in the house, they soon became the center of attention. Stimulated by the arrival of a visitor, Ben and Lizzie left their posts in the kitchen to barrel right up to Delia, knocking Marshall almost completely out of the way.

"Hi Delia!" they chorused almost in unison, bouncing up and down like they'd never seen anything so exciting in their lives.

Mary thought she knew why this might be, but she didn't inquire right away, taking care to flip her pancakes instead.

"Hi sugar pies!" Delia crooned, which made Mary roll her eyes, though she didn't let the kids see. "You all ready for the playground?"

"Clothes first," Marshall cut in. "And breakfast. We may be a little while yet; sorry for the misunderstanding about the time…"

"Oh, I can wait," Delia declared airily. "And…" her grin turned more gaping as she held up the two crackling sacks in her hand, waving them enticingly in front of the twins' line of vision. "I think I might have a present or two for Mr. Ben and Miss Lizzie…"

Ben shot off like a rocket, "Gimmie!" he leapt what looked like three feet in the air to grab his treasure, which earned him a scolding from his father when Delia yanked the sack out of the way.

"Benjamin," Mary heard him turn on his sharper tone, not to mention the use of his full name. She squinted, watching him place a firm hand on his son's shoulder, reminding him to cool his jets. "We've talked about this; you don't grab. Use your manners. Delia was very generous to bring you something; she didn't have to get you a gift at all…"

In the midst of this spiel, in which Ben's wily smirk never left his face, Lizzie butted in. It was a rare occurrence in which she tried to outmatch her brother, but gifts were a surefire way to do it.

"Thank-you, Delia," she recited primly. "May I see my present, please?"

"Of course, honey…"

Mary fought very hard not to giggle at seeing Ben scowl so deeply at his sister being such a kiss-up. But, she had to give him credit; he said absolutely nothing disparaging, though it was clear the lesson had been learned. He watched Lizzie duck her head into the grocery sack, his arms folded, his father playing it cool as a cucumber until he was prepared to be polite.

Mary wasn't all together surprised to see Ben take his time, engrossing himself in Lizzie's bounty; he hadn't enjoyed being told to sit down and shut up, in not so many words.

The girl, it transpired, had been given a pale pink cowboy hat in what looked like imitation leather, a thin brown rope dangling from either side so Lizzie could synch it around her chin.

"I hope you like it, sweetness…" Delia broke in, crouching onto her knees to address Lizzie. "I know you're very particular about what you like to dress up in…"

This was true, Mary thought. Unlike Holly, who was all about princesses and kingdoms, Liz was more selective; sometimes she went for overly girly, and other times she preferred to be more like Ben, happy to 'rough it' in the wilderness. But, it appeared Delia's choice was a good one.

"It's pretty…" she nodded and produced a sweet smile, her tongue poking between her teeth. "Can I wear it to the park, daddy?"

"Sure. Just be careful with it, all right?" Marshall permitted. "Let's see how it looks, huh?"

He fitted the hat onto Lizzie's snarls of curls, tightening the strap with one good tug. It was a little big and covered her eyes if it tipped down too far, but Delia was delighted – as was Marshall. They mooned appropriately, gaining shy and bashful smiles from the child in question.

"You are ready to ride the reins, partner!" Marshall proclaimed. "Why don't you go find an outfit to go with that hat? I bet you have something pink or purple that will give you quite the western style…"

"Okay!" Lizzie was game. "Thanks Delia!"

Mary looked up just long enough to see her daughter dart past the counter and show off the cap.

"Mama, look what Delia got me!" as if Mary hadn't been standing right there, she pointed at the brim.

"Very nice," the woman approved. "Breakfast is ready, so hurry up and get dressed."

Obedient as ever, she didn't need to be told twice, and disappeared with the slam of the bedroom door. Doling pancakes and syrup onto plates, Mary listened to how things were going with Ben. It appeared as though he were being given coaching by Marshall on how to accept souvenirs. Mary had no intentions of getting involved; this was a master at work.

"Can I have mine now?"

Marshall was patient, but unyielding, "You need to say something to Delia first."

Fortunately, the other inspector was familiar with this routine and just waited, bag in hand.

Ben hadn't quite caught on yet, "Can I have mine please?"

Now Marshall narrowed his brows, making him look dark and brooding. Yet again, Mary had to bite down a laugh at seeing him so serious, an act that made her take pause. How could she pretend things were so ordinary with Holly in such a state? She shouldn't be going about her day as though it were any old Saturday. There were places to be; things to do.

And still, she watched.

"Try again," Marshall urged. "What did your sister say?"

This did not improve Ben's disposition, who mumbled to his feet, "I don't know…"

"Yes, you do."

After what felt like several minutes waffling, Ben's cheeks turning slightly red, Mary almost began to feel badly for him, marveling in Marshall's ability to leave aside his usual soft attitude to rear their child into something more civilized. But eventually, the boy caved.

"Thank-you for the present, Delia. Can I see it?" And then in a belated rush, "Can I see it please?"

"Much better," Marshall praised at once.

"Here you are, good sir!" Delia was more than happy to bestow the package, dropping it at Ben's feet in an instant.

He dove the way Beatrix often did, using everything from his nails to his teeth to rip out the knot Delia had tied in the sack. While he worked, scrabbling all over the ground, Marshall and Delia chuckled and Mary finally got a word in, thinking it would take Ben a second or two to reach the buried treasure.

"Delia, you have to stop spoiling them," she asserted, shaking her head, but not truly upset. "It's so close to Christmas; they're gonna be rolling in toys before long. You don't have to buy them a gift every time we ask you to watch them."

"Oh, but it's too fun…" Delia defended herself in the most positive of ways. "My nieces and nephews are all growing up so fast; I don't have any little ones to buy things for anymore."

"Well, I already owe you big time for today," Mary meandered on over to the entryway where Ben was still attacking the plastic tether. "But, Marshall can probably take the kids back around noon…"

"You two take your time," she insisted. "How is Holly?" now was the time for specifics, what with Lizzie out of the room. "Is she doing all right?"

"It was touch and go last night," Marshall sighed. "But, her condition was looking up this morning – she's looking at bacterial meningitis and a fractured tibia."

"Oh, poor thing…" Delia breathed. "I'll be praying for her, for sure. You'll tell Brandi and Peter I send my best?"

"Of course," Marshall promised.

Before anything too explicit could be defined in terms of Holly, Ben had burrowed to the center at last. With a gleeful shout, he pulled forth a wad of fabric in bright green. He was so excited, he fumbled the shirt for several minutes before managing to unfold it and see what was printed on the front. When he realized, his expression of delight brightened even more thoroughly into ecstasy – blue eyes as vibrant as ever. Mary loved that look.

"The Green Lantern!" he hollered, waving the shirt in his fist; Mary could just barely make out the blocky image of the lamp he was describing. "I don't have him yet!"

By 'him' Ben meant the T-shirt specifically; he had comic books and posters and figurines coming out his ears, but had only slowly but surely been collecting the shirts of varying superheroes. He wanted a vast array, plenty to choose from depending upon who he wished to embody on any given day.

"Mom, see?" he boasted, finally releasing his iron hold to give his mother a good look. "It's the Green Lantern! I don't have him!" he reiterated.

"I thought you didn't!" Delia pointed a knowing finger. "You have Superman and Batman and…"

"And the Flash!" Ben finished. "But, not Green Lantern! Thanks Delia!" and this time, it was definitely genuine.

"You are very welcome, Benny."

And when Mary reflected upon the flickers of sheer joy and bliss that had presented themselves on her children's faces that morning, in contrast to Holly's impending misery, she almost felt the compulsion to grant Delia with a hearty 'thanks' of her own.

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of a longer chapter! I actually had trouble deciphering the real difference between bacterial and viral meningitis; I just know bacterial is more serious. That on top of Holly's fractured tibia probably seems like overkill, but I tend to go there! Thank-you again for the reviews! I love them!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Such kind reviews for me to read! I can't thank-you enough! Once again, I'm giving you a heads up (for now and the future,) that any medical jargon henceforth is sure to be woefully inaccurate. There's not much I can do about it since the story is all written, so I hope you will forgive me (like I said, this goes for later too)!**

XXX

Mary had to admit that she was half-expecting some sort of vigil once she made it to the hospital, showered, dressed, and bearing two Styrofoam cups of coffee, as if either her sister or brother-in-law were going to drink them. But, when she arrived in Holly's room, she found not an exhausted Brandi and Peter draped over the bed, but a man and a woman at opposite sides, both of them in the midst of snarling. Jinx was the only one who was seated, seemingly trying to shield Holly from whatever was going on with her parents.

At first, nobody even seemed to notice Mary enter, and initially she was grateful because it gave her a chance to catch up.

"Would you two please stop this?" Jinx shushed them with frantic hand-waving. "You're going to wake Holly, and she needs her rest! You should be thinking about her…"

Brandi scarcely troubled to keep her voice down from where she stood by the sink, "Since Peter's decided he's the only one who _does_ think about her, then maybe you should talk to _him_…"

Mary didn't know what this meant, but her eyes swiveled to the man himself; waiting to see what his response was going to be. He looked even worse than Marshall had, wearing a faded grey jacket unzipped over a dingy white T-shirt. His eyes were sunken, his face dull and gaunt. Being up at all hours of the night with his sick daughter had clearly taken its toll.

"Brandi, that's not what I said," Peter was definitely whispering, trying to control his emotions. "All I said was that Holly missed you during the night; I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant!" Brandi snapped.

"Shh! Brandi!" Jinx put a finger to her lips, jerking her head at her youngest granddaughter, but Brandi did not heed the advice.

"You are always throwing out these hints that you love our daughter and I'm just some deadbeat mom that's more interested in my own stuff than in our kid!" fresh tears appeared on the younger sister's cheeks as she twisted Peter's words, clearly anxious to release some of her frustrations on someone. "Well, it isn't true! I've just been busy! I've had a lot to do with the holidays and just because I didn't want to see her get stuck with all those needles doesn't mean…!"

She broke off, too busy crying to finish, muffling the sound with her hand over her mouth. Jinx was looking increasingly panicked that Brandi's tantrum would wake Holly, but the little girl never stirred.

A good look at her showed Mary that her niece seemed smaller than usual in a gaping hospital bed, although it was tailor-made for someone of shorter stature. She was hooked up to what appeared to be two different IV lines, probably one for feeding and one for antibiotics, Mary guessed. Her little gown was printed with orange tigers, her pale blonde boy's-cut lying still on the pillow. The blankets covered her leg, meaning Mary couldn't spot a cast or a split, which was probably just as well.

"You're both tired," Jinx insisted, taking a solid stab at rationality. "One of you should go get something to eat and take a break for awhile; I don't mind staying with Holly…"

From what Marshall had said, Peter and Brandi had spent most of the evening apart, but it appeared this was not enough of a lapse, not if they were arguing already.

"Brandi…" Peter sighed, sounding extremely drained; he leaned a hand against the window frame on the other side of the room. "I'm sorry if I implied that you were skipping out on Holly; I didn't mean…"

But, at that moment, his eyes flickered upward and he noticed Mary, standing discreetly in the doorway like some nosy busybody. Her coffees suddenly seemed like a poor peace offering now that she'd walked in on all this drama.

"Hey…" he stated blandly, which caused Jinx and Brandi to locate the source of his shift with their eyes. "I didn't hear you come in."

No wonder, Mary thought, but didn't say. Instead, she shifted the drinks, not to mention her feet on the linoleum, catching sight of Brandi trying to wipe her eyes as she did so.

"Yeah…" she finally got out, wondering if it was safe to come in all the way. "Marshall and I swapped places for a bit; Delia's got the kids at the playground."

"Oh, Delia's that lovely colleague of yours," Jinx recalled, struggling to find neutral ground to put a halt to Brandi's and Peter's marital woes.

"Yeah, the kids love her because she spoils them rotten," Mary picked up the thread. "I have coffee if anybody wants it, but there's only two; I didn't know you were still here, mom…"

"Never mind, dear," Jinx shook her head, not the least bit concerned about beverages. "Why don't you take Brandi down to the cafeteria for some breakfast?"

The older daughter decided against mentioning that she'd already had pancakes, to say nothing of the fact that Brandi probably was not interested in going anywhere, but her sister gave in almost instantly. Mary was surprised, but willing to go with the flow; there was no telling how long she'd be here, but getting Brandi in a more agreeable mood was job one.

"Fine…" but she was still huffy, apparently, pushing past Mary without meeting her eyes. "Call my cell if Holly wakes up."

"Of course, sweetheart…" Jinx called, but Brandi had already disappeared through the door and into the hall with the blink of an eye.

Baffled, Mary turned to the two remaining individuals. Peter ran a hand over his forehead and across the back of his hair before finally dropping into a chair opposite Jinx. Mary still felt as though she were caught in limbo somehow; what had gone on in her and Marshall's absence? Why was Brandi behaving like some out-of-control teenager? Yes, emotions were running high, but the accusations she'd hurled at Peter spoke volumes.

"What is going on?" she found herself asking, the only way to uncover the truth. "Is Holly okay; did something change?"

"No-no…she's plugging along…" Jinx pitched her voice downward again, reaching out a hand to stroke the child's hair. "Brandi's just a little…overwhelmed, is all…" she stole a cautionary glance at Peter, obviously wondering how he'd take to it being characterized this way, but he didn't look up from where he was staring intently at Holly's face.

"Did she sleep at all?" Mary wanted to know, referring to Brandi.

"No, I don't think so," Jinx relayed. "Marshall tried to help her relax for a little while – he was such a gem, rubbing her back and everything, but she was just so worried…"

Jinx broke off, Mary wondering in the back of her mind if this was the real reason Brandi hadn't been able to succumb. Of course she was fretting over her daughter, but was there a bigger issue at stake? It was no secret to any of them that Brandi and Peter had been on the outs, not that any of them knew the reasons, but it was disheartening to learn that the issues hadn't been put aside for Holly's sake.

"Right…" was all Mary could think of to say. "Well, I'll go out and sit with her; maybe she'll calm down…"

"Thank-you, darling," her mother gave a shaky smile. "You know how it is…seeing your children in pain…"

Mary did know to an extent, but the most she'd had to deal with was the NICU. While frightening and daunting at times, it had never materialized as anything equal to Mary's nightmares for Ben and Lizzie while they'd been in the womb. Holly's condition was a completely different ballgame.

"All right…" she agreed, unsure how she was going to approach Brandi without being too harsh. "Peter, do you want coffee? I can toss it out if you're not feeling it…"

Peter shook his head, but held out his hand, "Sure, fine. Thanks for coming down."

But, it was the grandmother who pulled the cup into her fingers and handed it across the girl's snoozing form. Peter immediately deposited it on the night table, and Mary had serious doubts about him drinking it, but she wasn't sure what else to do in times of crisis. She was going to have to rethink her 'tough love' approach when she cornered Brandi.

"I'll be back," she announced, before ultimately retreating through the hatch in search of her sister.

For some reason, she expected to find her waiting outside the door, ready to rail at Peter for whatever he'd supposedly said or done, but she wasn't there. As the waiting room wasn't far, with its gaudy bright colors and pictures, Mary checked there next, but no Brandi. It wasn't until she decided she'd see what they had to offer in the cafeteria, resigning herself to bringing food back upstairs, that she discovered the younger Shannon sitting by herself in a corner table under a high window.

Mary hung back for a moment, taking in the other hospital patrons sharing spindly tables with their loved ones, poring over muffins or stale donuts, their heads bent in shadow. Brandi's blonde hair was highlighted by the winter sunshine streaming through the glass, but also illuminated was the redness of her cheeks, the tracks of tears lining her skin. She was still dabbing with a tissue when Mary eventually approached her.

"Hi…" she murmured somewhat idly.

Brandi looked up only for a fraction of a second, "Hi."

An awkward silence fell over them, Mary nixing several questions she wanted to fire at the other woman because they would only make things worse.

Why are you acting so immature? Why can't you just be there for Holly and leave your personal crap out of it? What is the matter with you and Peter and why don't you let it go? What exactly were you thinking while you were wringing your hands in the waiting room and your daughter was being stuck with sharp objects at every second?

But, none of these seemed appropriate – not yet, anyway. So, Mary eased herself into the chair across from Brandi, finding there was very little tabletop to rest her elbows on.

"So…Marshall told me…" her voice seemed rather vast in the otherwise quiet eating area. "When he got home…that it looked like Holly was gonna pull through…"

Brandi shook her head wildly, tears flying, "I-I don't know; they don't know anything. They don't even know whether she has lasting complications or not."

"We can deal with complications, Squish," Mary decided in something of an undertone, leaning forward to address her sister. "The point is that she's gonna make it, right? And that's more than you knew when you brought her in last night."

"Mare, I just…" the younger scooted backward in her chair where it made a horrible screeching sound, as though the older had been about to cross-examine her. "I've heard all the 'everything's going to be fine' and 'don't worry' speeches. I really thought you were more honest than that."

Mary did not appreciate the critical tone of her voice, not unlike the one she'd used with Peter, and she wanted to tell her that if she wanted honesty, she could have it, and not with any hand-holding either. But, she bit her tongue, knowing Brandi was gunning for an argument, dying for anyone to blame, and she wouldn't be so dumb as to fall into that trap.

"All right, well…" Mary shot after a previous topic without knowing how it was going to be received. "Do you want to talk about the complications? Is there anything you're supposed to watch out for…?"

If Brandi shook her head anymore it was going to fly clean off her shoulders, but the wagging continued, though Mary didn't know what she meant by it.

"I…it's not like I can remember it all…"

"Well yeah, I figured, but…"

"But, I mean…really awful-awful stuff…" Brandi was weeping again, and Mary began to wish she hadn't brought this up, but it was better than arguing. "She could have hearing loss or seizures or brain damage…"

The rundown ended there, when Brandi became too absorbed in her bawling to continue. Wanting desperately for her to quit making such a scene, no matter how warranted, Mary fumbled for a few wadded up napkins and handed them over. They were soaked within seconds, the taller of the two wracking her mind furiously to try and figure out how to smooth this over.

"Squish…" she whispered, hoping they didn't attract the attention of others, though this was a hospital and people would likely understand. "Has Holly…has she been awake since they sedated her last night?" she remembered Marshall saying something about that before she'd left the house.

Brandi gave a wobbly nod, mopping her streaming eyes.

"Not for very long; she's so tired and the medicine made her drowsy…"

"Okay, but when she was awake did she seem like herself?" Mary pushed.

Brandi shrugged, "I…sort of…but…I mean, she was scared; I don't know what she'll be like when she comes to next…"

Despite the grim prognosis, Mary could still tell from Brandi's waffling that there was hope in her voice. What little she'd seen of Holly was promising; there was a glimmer of her old self within the hysteria, and that could only mean positive things down the road. Mary intended to capitalize on this realization at once.

"Brandi, if she was talking to you and acting like she normally would, I'm sure she doesn't have brain damage; I'm sure that's a worst case scenario kind of thing."

Mary had no earthly idea what made her say something like 'I'm sure' and twice, no less. But, Brandi needed all the good news she could get and, regardless of what some doctor might say, Holly's family knew her deep down. If Brandi recognized the old Holly, then the old Holly was who they were getting back.

It seemed, however, that Brandi could not take her words to heart and buried her face in her hands for the umpteenth time, catching still more tears.

"I cannot do this, Mare…" she moaned, much like what she'd confessed to Marshall. "I can't – so close to Christmas and her birthday. She should be at home, all excited about her presents and Santa; she's not even three years old and she can't even get out of bed or walk…"

"Squish, I know it's rough, but try to keep an open mind…" Mary encouraged, leaning in still closer even though Brandi had inched away from her minutes before. "Holly could be home before Christmas; you don't know anything yet. You said so yourself…"

Some unknown compulsion made Mary place her hand on the tabletop, offering it to Brandi, but her sister didn't take it. She ran her fingers up and down her jeans instead, discarding soggy napkins.

"Her leg isn't even fixed yet; it could be days before they're able to operate…"

"Well, that'll give Holly time to rest up; try to look at it that way…"

Mary did not know where all these sunny ideas were coming from, not when she'd had to fight being so callous at the onset, but living with Marshall for over five years had taught her a few things about tact. Having two children didn't hurt either.

"But, what if her leg gets infected or something?"

Bewildered this time, Mary frowned unintentionally, "Well…did they tell you that could happen?"

But, Brandi didn't respond. Her phone had gone off in her back pocket, forcing her to maneuver it out into the open to see who was giving her a buzz. Mary assumed it must be Peter to say that Holly had arisen and was asking for her, but when her sister glanced at the lighted screen, she blinked thoughtfully, as though trying to decide whether or not to answer.

"What?" Mary prompted when she neither ignored the call nor picked it up.

The sound of her voice seemed to bring Brandi back to sanity. It was as though she'd forgotten Mary was even there, and she hastily shoved the phone back out of sight.

"Nothing. It's nobody."

It was Mary's turn to incline backward in her chair, fixing Brandi with a quizzical stare. Her body language was glaring. She'd gone from frenzied to shifty in no time flat. Who had been on the phone, and why didn't she want to tell Mary? Something deep inside the elder sister – perhaps the US Marshal part – shoved her forward without coherent thought before she could stop her mouth running off.

"Squish, who was on the phone?"

She was very direct, not having the faintest clue who her sister would hide from her. Indeed, who would call Brandi that wasn't already in their very presence? Peter and Jinx were upstairs, Marshall was at home, and Mary was right here. Who else was in Brandi's life besides Peter's family, who would likely call Peter?

But, it was apparent in an instant that the bereaved sensed the alteration in dynamic. Her puffy, red-rimmed eyes narrowed and her arms folded over her chest.

"I said it was nobody. Mind your own business."

Mary ignored that and moved on to more important matters now that she'd jumped in headfirst, "Why are you arguing with Peter? Does it have something to do with whoever was on the other end of that call?"

"Mare, put a sock in it!" Brandi was on the defensive at once. "Peter and I argued because we're stressed! Jesus! Our daughter is in the hospital! Do you need a better reason?"

"I'm not an idiot, Squish. Everyone knows you've been at odds for months now…"

"It hasn't been _months_…"

"I don't care. He bends over backwards to help you, and if you're doing something stupid…"

"Don't call me stupid!" Brandi barked loudly, catching the eye of passerby. "And don't tell me what to do! You don't know anything! You're the one with two kids at home safe and sound and I'm the one that's watching mine go through hell, so don't pretend like you understand anything!"

Though caught off guard by what were becoming very frequent outbursts from Brandi, it was the guilt trip that did her in. Not typically susceptible to shame, Mary felt herself weakening slightly, knowing there was a case for making a few allowances for Brandi. She still didn't believe the phone call was innocent, but Holly took precedence right now. No good was going to come from berating her about Peter.

"Fine," she seceded from the dispute, folding her hands in front of her because Brandi had overlooked this gesture of goodwill. "Fine. I won't call you stupid."

A shuddering sigh followed this agreement, Brandi having the grace to look mildly embarrassed. Mary noticed she kept fluttering her hands, like she needed something to keep them busy, but they hadn't ordered any food or drink. Now might be a good time to propose that.

"They have biscuits and donuts, I saw," Mary offered. "Did you want something?"

Brandi shook her head, "I…I don't think so…"

"Squish, you should eat something; starving yourself doesn't do anything for Holly."

"I know, I just…" her voice had dipped downward considerably, like she wanted to brush her entire eruption under the rug, probably so Mary wouldn't harangue her about the phone call. "I'm sorry I snapped. I'm…tired…is all…"

This was riddled with excuses, excuses Brandi had every right to make, but Mary still suspected this went beyond worry and lack of sleep. It took a lot of willpower to hold herself back, at least until she spoke to Marshall and figured out a more lucid way to bombard her sister with questions.

"Mom or Marshall or I…we don't mind hanging out with Holly," Mary assured her, trying to appear magnanimous. "If you need to sleep, then sleep. You'll be refreshed, ready to tackle this head-on…"

It wasn't worth showing that Mary didn't believe the words coming out of her own mouth. Rest wouldn't make Brandi more tolerable, but she remembered Marshall's suggestion about giving Brandi confidence, and she'd tried to act on it.

Whatever condolences Mary was offering seemed to fall on deaf ears as it was. Fits aside, Brandi was clearly determined that her sister forget the ringing cell phone – so much so that she pasted on a painful, would-be-bright smile in lieu of going round and round on whether or not she should rest.

"I…I'd really like to talk about something else…" she gave a warbly giggle. "I-I don't need to sleep right now; I just need to escape for a bit, okay?"

Mary would've loved to say that sleep would achieve just that, but once again forced herself to button it.

"What…what did you guys do yesterday while mom and I were out shopping? I meant to tell you how great the house looked when we got back; Peter and I haven't had a chance to decorate ours yet…"

This was an obscure topic if ever Mary had seen one, and she definitely took note of the fact that the Alpert mansion was still devoid of Christmas spirit. Still, impartial subjects were better than anything else at the moment, and the older figured she might as well take the opportunity while it was being handed to her.

"Well…you know me…the kids give me shit because I'm not exactly the most festive person in the world…" she sent a smirk Brandi's direction and received one in return, though compelling it was not. "They practically had to drag me kicking and screaming to hang up ornaments. It's sad, Squish."

Even though Brandi coerced a laugh from deep within, they both knew this was untrue. Mary pretended to regain some semblance of her former bad ass self, but in reality she had given up so many parts of her old persona in favor of being a mom. After nine months of agony worrying about the twins, Christmas garland was small potatoes.

"You think I don't know you're lying," Brandi quipped fairly well. "Just like with the coloring books back in the day. You'll never admit you secretly like it."

"At least let me save face for a few minutes," Mary mused idly. "You know it's my worst nightmare to have people find out I bedazzled my home with anything sparkly."

"Did Holly help out?" the other suddenly proposed, somewhat out of nowhere. The hope, the yearning in her cobalt eyes for some kind of normalcy couldn't have been more evident. "Did she like…you know…the tree and…the tinsel and…and…" her voice trailed into nothingness. "…Everything?"

Not wanting to disappoint, Mary thought hard, tried to block out all those times Holly had begged for her mother to come home – tried to shake off the too-warm eminence of her skin against Marshall's. She didn't want to tell Brandi that her child had seemed mopey, that she seemed mopey too often because her parents fought and her beloved mommy was gone too much.

"She and Lizzie sure enjoyed the cookies mom baked," Mary finally came up with. "Practically gobbled them all up."

'All' was definitely stretching it. Holly had-had maybe one, on account of not feeling well, Lizzie had scraped by with three, and Ben had devoured the rest of the batch.

"I guess that means she's got a little of her old auntie in her after all, huh?" Mary's conjecture on this was weak, at best, and she found herself wondering the whole time if Brandi bought her tale. "We all know I never say no to a good meal."

The light was fading fast in Brandi's orbs; that need for escape dwindling with every passing second. In spite of how stung she'd felt by her baby sister's tirade, Mary was beginning to feel the drummings of indignity. There was really no way of knowing how she herself would fare in this kind of situation; she'd have likely been as nasty and cutthroat as they came.

Could she really blame Brandi for lashing out? Who cared about a stupid phone call? What harm was it doing?

Well, that could be answered at a later date. Right now, Mary decided a second shot at the hand-holding couldn't hurt. Brandi was welling up once more and this time, she didn't hesitate to pull the stronger, sturdier fingers into her own. It reminded Mary only too well of the time they'd been suspended exactly like this over a bolted metal table, Brandi's eyes no less leaky than they were right now.

It was the squeeze that made Mary abandon pretense, "She'll have a better time getting your house all dolled up," she insisted with a nod. "You and Holly and Peter; she'll love it, all three of you together."

Brandi shook her head with a throaty exhale, "Mare, I don't even know if she's gonna be the same kid anymore…"

"Yes, you do," Mary interrupted sharply.

And, without warning, she realized she could kill two birds with one stone; she could supply Brandi with faith while simultaneously ensuring that she understood just how vital a role she played in Holly's recovery.

"You're her mother," she stated boldly. "No matter what happens, Holly will never, ever stop being your kid."

XXX

**A/N: No Marshall in this one, but some clues (not really clues, but tidbits,) about Brandi. Hope you enjoyed!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I don't have any author's notes tonight (I'm sure I'll think of some later LOL!) Enjoy!**

XXX

It was a very gloomy Saturday for Mary, not to mention Marshall once he showed up at the hospital after lunch. Rather than relieve Delia of the twins, he wrangled for her to spend the remainder of the day with them, which she was only too happy to do. Mary was grateful for the company after awhile, what with nobody but Holly's demure form to sit with.

Brandi and Jinx disappeared for awhile and Peter finally crashed out in the waiting room. Knowing she needed to let Peter reenergize, and forcing herself to believe Jinx had taken Brandi somewhere she'd snap out of it, Mary allowed both parties to do whatever they wanted. Suffice it to say, however, that Marshall turning up was a pleasant distracter from the otherwise lonesome afternoon.

It was almost four o'clock when Holly finally came out of what must've been very heavy anesthetic. Nurses had been in and out throughout the day to guarantee she was doing all right, assuring whoever was in her room that the overload of sleep was to be expected with how heavily she'd been sedated. Nonetheless, Mary certainly didn't expect to hear her rustle the sheets while she was having a whispered conversation with Marshall from across her bed.

"Did I tell you what happened with Brandi earlier?" she asked, her hand smoothing Holly's short hair without really thinking about it.

Marshall shook his head from where he had his elbows over his knees, hands clasped beneath his chin.

"Other than the knowledge that she was still rather a wreck, no," his voice sounded husky when he tried to keep it from rising.

"I took her down to the cafeteria when I first got here and she got this phone call…"

"From whom?" Marshall inquired, sitting up a little straighter.

"I don't know," Mary confessed, fighting not to become worked-up and noisy. "She said it was 'nobody' but does she expect me to believe that?"

"As it is rare for a phone to dial itself, I suppose not," he joked back with a jaunty smirk, earning him scrunched brows from his wife.

"Don't be a smart ass; this is important," she pressed on. "Anyway, when I bugged her about it, she totally flipped out…"

"Might that be because she is a little touchy given…" he spread his arm up and down Holly's body, indicating the adverse events. "What we're dealing with here."

Mary frowned, her hand coming to a halt, "I knew you'd say that."

"My intelligence is rubbing off on you," he whispered arrogantly.

"Yeah-yeah…" Mary griped. "I'm telling you, there was something fishy about it…"

"Well, I don't know anything about phone calls," Marshall cut her off as he shifted positions, mindful of not squeaking his chair or bumping the table, though if the constantly beeping monitors hadn't woken Holly up before now, it was unlikely this would. "But, if I may pick your brain on one facet when it comes to Brandi…"

"What?"

"Does she look thinner to you?" he remembered what a rail she had appeared to him in the waiting room the night before, Mary's additional misgivings bringing it to the forefront of his mind. "Mind you, it isn't as though she were heavy to start with, but…"

When he paused, Mary segued in neatly, "Not that I noticed. Why would she have lost weight?"

Marshall sighed very deliberately, "Isn't that the thing," what would usually have been phrased as a question was definitely a statement, and this didn't get by Mary for a minute.

"Something's going on with her," she declared with this development. "Something beyond Holly and Peter."

"Well, before you pull out your glock Rambo-style, you might want to try talking to her first…"

Mary was about to say that she'd tried talking in the cafeteria and Brandi had hardly responded well. But, this comeback was put on hold when she heard a low, yet high-pitched moan sound from between her and Marshall's investigative tactics. He jumped, startled, and his eyes immediately swiveled to what had seconds before been Holly's nearly-motionless torso. Mary glanced over her shoulder at the monitor, which hadn't gone off with any rapid-fire pings. That must mean Holly was finally going to join the world of living, however hazy her perspective might be.

Mary's instinct was to leap up and get the child's mother or father, but Marshall extended a hand, recognizing the look in her eyes. He motioned for her to stay put and raised a finger to his lips, as if Mary needed a reminder to be quiet.

"Wait a second…" he mouthed. "Give her a few minutes to get reacquainted; she'll be really inundated…"

Underneath her annoyance about being told to stay silent, Mary supposed this was true. She couldn't imagine what tiny Holly's memories of the night before consisted of, but it couldn't be anything very amusing. She had no idea when they'd finally given her the drugs designed to knock her out, but probably not until they'd already jabbed needles into every piece of skin they could reach. This seemed vastly unfair, but Mary put it out of her mind.

Holly blinked slowly for a moment or two before fixing the ceiling with a confused, hazel-eyed stare. Another squeak sounded from deep in her throat before her lids grew wider and more fearful. The look was gut-wrenching; it was clear she did not know where she was or what was going on.

The first word that came out her mouth was predictable, but still heartbreaking.

"M-mommy?"

As she wasn't completely coming apart yet, neither Mary nor Marshall said anything, but when Holly glanced to the left and right and saw neither of her parents, reassurance came fast.

"Hey, Jolly Holly…" Marshall greeted her softly, reaching beneath the covers to take one of her little hands, which were covered almost entirely by tape from the IVs. "Nice of you to join us. I'm here. Aunt Mary's here too…" he jerked his head to the other side.

"Hi Holls…" Mary contributed, tousling her hair rather than rubbing it this time.

But, even the comfort of Uncle Marshall couldn't bring reprieve on this front. Holly's lip began to tremble; yes, she knew these people and knew they were safe, but they were not who she wanted. She'd woken up in a strange place with frightening machines, a leg she couldn't feel, and needles flowing in and out of her vein. Who wouldn't be terrified, two years old or otherwise?

"Where…where's mommy…?" she bleated pitifully, and the rush of tears brought on a nasty sounding cough. "Where's mommy…I want mommy…where's daddy…?"

Evidently, either would do, and the time for allowing orientation was past. Mary knew it to be so even before Marshall opened his mouth.

"Aunt Mary's gonna go find them, all right?" he promised gallantly, and Mary took this as her cue to stand up. "Last I saw, daddy was right outside; he was just taking a little nap…"

"I want mommy…" she repeated tragically.

"I know; it won't be long," Marshall swore, his voice as even and soothing as ever. The last thing Mary heard before she opened the door was a well-worded query, "Do you hurt somewhere? Show Uncle Marshall…"

In spite of the impending doom, Mary had the odd compulsion to laugh at hearing Marshall refer to himself in third person. But, Holly was still at that age where it helped to remind her who was in control, who was taking care of her, and who she could trust.

Just before the heavy hatch swung shut and Mary found herself in the hall, she caught a snatch of, "My head…"

Well, whatever hurt, Mary had learned one thing in her time as a parent – when you were two years old, mommy fixed everything. It didn't matter if your mother was a slacker, a deadbeat, crass, rude, or MIA, if they showed up when it mattered, it could go a long way toward making everything seem brighter.

Unfortunately for Mary, when she reached the waiting room after twisting and turning down the hallway, Peter was still the only one there. Exhausted to the maximum, he was slumped in what looked like a very stiff armchair, his head lolling onto his shoulder. Although he hadn't even been away from home for twenty-four hours, there were already five o'clock shadows on his cheeks. Between Holly's illness and Brandi's temper, he was wearing down already.

Thinking that perhaps he had been given an indication of where his wife and mother-in-law had ventured off to, Mary strode over to his resting place and tried not to shake him awake too abruptly, but it wasn't easy.

"Peter…" she jostled his shoulder to start out. "Hey…Peter…"

It didn't take much. He awoke with a start, eyes snapping open and head springing up as though a fire alarm had gone off. So much for not rushing things. In an effort to cover her blunder, Mary took a step back, not wanting to appear threatening after shaking him from his dreams.

"Oh…" he finally croaked, clearing his throat and shaking his head like a dog trying to rid its ears of water. "Yeah…what's up? Everything okay?"

Mary decided the second issue was better answered by a doctor and cut to the chase, "Holly's awake. For only about two minutes now, but still…"

It was apparent that she did not need to go on. Peter had leapt to his feet, smoothed his wrinkled jacket, and flattened his hair all in a matter of fifteen seconds and was off, Mary hot on his heels. As they walked, he began firing questions.

"How did she seem?" he wanted to know, a natural curiosity. "She's been under close to twelve hours, since about six o'clock this morning. She woke up once around nine, but she was really confused so they upped her dosage to give her some more sleep…"

This answered Mary's previous wonderings about how long Holly had been able to drift into the subconscious, but the tidbit about her having been lost that morning was unsettling. She knew it was best not to bring this up with Peter and hastened to reply to his string of thoughts.

"I…I wasn't in there very long…" she told him honestly. "She was a little upset…asking for Brandi…"

Though Mary internally cringed at having described Holly's behavior as 'a little upset' she knew Peter was going to find out the real truth soon enough, so it was irrelevant. More pressing was the fact that mention of Brandi did not prompt him to reveal where she and Jinx were. While difficult, Mary ignored this too.

"I…I just…I really don't know what to expect, you know…" Peter continued breathlessly; it seemed to be taking a lot of his energy just to get through the corridors of rooms. "The stuff they told us could happen after the fact…" Mary knew he was referring to those horrendous complications Brandi had detailed, and wanted to tell him he didn't have to go on.

"Yeah, I…" she interrupted quickly. "I mean, Brandi said something."

Peter did not decrease his pace in the least, "I can't even think about it," he asserted with a hefty gulp. "She's alive. That's all that matters."

This was precisely what Mary had wanted Brandi to focus on, and she respected Peter even more for saying so, though she couldn't fathom how hard it was to make believe that your child wasn't heading for approaching disaster.

They could handle hearing loss or a week or two in the hospital, not to mention a broken leg. But, brain damage was the toughest, bitterest pill to swallow. Brandi and Peter had to have gotten Holly to the hospital in time. Surely they had. The alternative was too ghastly to contemplate.

But, if Peter was pondering such a thing, you would never know it by the time he burst through the door of his daughter's room. Like someone had flipped a switch, a buoyant smile appeared in his lined features; putting on the perfect act for his little girl. A rush of admiration swept over Mary as she trailed in behind him, knowing Marshall would've done the same thing if this were Ben or Lizzie.

As it was, Marshall himself seemed to have scooted closer to the bed in Mary's absence, cradling Holly's blonde head in the curve of his elbow. She was definitely crying, but Mary could've sworn she saw a flash of recognition flit in her eyes at the appearance of Peter.

"Hey, see there!" Marshall boasted joyously. "There's daddy; I told you he'd come right in!"

He inched away to give Peter more room, who swooped down upon his child and laid a kiss in the center of her burning forehead.

"Hi pumpkin…" he whispered, as though afraid of disturbing her. "I wasn't far. I knew Aunt Mary and Uncle Marshall would take good care of you, but I'm here now."

"Daddy, my head hurts…" Holly reported at once, a crackling hand hovering underneath her bangs. "And I…I…I…" she had to stop to hack up what sounded like a hairball, furthering Peter's disquiet. "I…I cough…"

"Not feeling too good, huh?" Peter surmised. Quickly, he turned to the pair waiting behind him, "Would one of you mind grabbing a doctor or a nurse and letting them know she's up?"

Unable to believe they hadn't covered this before now, Mary made the offer immediately, "I'll go," she was more than happy to bully whomever she had to. "Should I call Brandi too?"

Of course she should call Brandi; the real question was: where was Brandi? But, once again Peter volunteered nothing, just gave his consent.

"Please," he nodded. "Thanks Mary."

She bobbed her head practically in unison with his, disappearing behind the door for a second time, prepared to flash her badge the minute she had to if it got somebody in Holly's room to figure out how she was faring. The aunt took some measure of comfort in knowing that she had seemed to recognize Peter and she _had_ asked for 'mommy' so there were definitely glimmers of the Holly they knew and loved. Any bigger portions that were missing could be sorted out later.

Meanwhile, Marshall stayed behind, wanting to be present in case Holly or Peter needed anything, but careful not to appear overbearing. Holly was plainly trying to get a grip on things; even at close to three years old, she could tell something wasn't right. Peter took a seat in Mary's vacated chair, Marshall standing in the background near the sink.

"Holly…listen to me…" Peter started consoling. "Listen to daddy. Does anything hurt besides your head?"

"My…my…" but she was choking too vigorously to say much more than that, the sensation making her cheeks go pink; Marshall was afraid she'd expel fluid if she didn't manage to stop.

Intelligently, Peter abandoned his question and helped Holly sit up instead, hoping to clear her airway, "Go slow, honey. One of those nice doctors will be here soon; they might let you have some water," he rubbed her back, just as a doting father should.

Marshall kept silent where he was, though he was privately thinking that Holly probably did not consider any of the doctors 'nice.' Regardless, he was likely to have said the same thing to one of his kids and had to have a high regard for how calm Peter was being. It was apparent that he was jittery, but it was enough to fool Holly, and that was of higher import.

Once the coughing subsided, the little girl trembled for a moment before going after speech again.

"My…my leg…feel funny…" she rasped. "My leg feel funny, daddy…"

"Your leg feels funny?" Peter repeated, just to ensure he'd understood. For a split second, he turned to Marshall for an aside, "Well, better 'funny' than 'painful,' right? Small victory…"

"It's the little things," Marshall intoned in agreement.

But, Peter had already returned to Holly, "It might feel funny for a little while. You hit it pretty hard, but the doctors can't fix it yet; until they can, it'll feel funny so it doesn't hurt. Does that make sense?"

This was doubtful, and Holly just shrugged. Marshall was trying to picture how numbness in one's limbs would feel to a child so young, a child who couldn't comprehend how medicine was dulling the pain. It must be so frightening to experience the sensation that you had no leg and not have any idea why.

In any case, Peter didn't wait for Holly to give any indication that she knew what he was talking about and transitioned into something a little more pleasant.

"I'm so glad to see you, pumpkin…" he kissed her temple this time, lingering for a moment before sliding back, using the term of endearment once more. "I've missed you. We're gonna get you all better, okay? So, don't worry…"

'Don't worry' was probably the furthest thing from Holly's mind and there, in her droopy gown and bloodshot eyes, she proved just how much of a tizzy she was truly in.

"Where is this?" she whimpered, tears dribbling all down her front. "Why I here?"

"You're here because you're sick," Peter was patient, rumpling up her trimmed locks. "Very sick, but you're gonna be okay; mommy and I will make sure of it…"

Mentioning Brandi, which probably looked encouraging on the surface, ended up being a bad move and Marshall instantly felt for Peter.

"I want mommy…" Holly began to wail, no longer emitting timid whines, but full on bawling, proving her youth in every traumatizing note that escaped. "I want mommy…I want mommy…"

Sobbing, her voice only continued to climb, but Peter valiantly gathered her into his arms anyway, mommy or no mommy, sheltering her drippy face against his chest. He clucked and shushed her as best he was able, but little could be done for a girl who was so ill and so single-minded. Marshall was sure he was dying to ask his daughter if she even remembered the night before, but now was definitely not the time.

"Aunt Mary called mommy on her phone; she'll be here as soon as she hears…" Peter avowed.

Intuition told Marshall that it might be okay for him to step in at this point. Most men might feel awkward and want to leave at the display going on, but Marshall's nobility had him swinging in the other direction.

"Hey Holly…" he slunk over quietly, taking his seat again. "Guess what I have?" he tried to sound enticing.

"Look…" Peter coaxed, murmuring next to her ear. "Look at Uncle Marshall; he brought something for you…"

"Well, it's nothing _too_ special…" he conceded, but was quick to take up his offering the minute Holly unearthed herself and mopped at her eyes, rubbing with her fists. "But, Lizzie reminded me that she can't ever sleep without Pretzel, so I knew you would need a friend to put you to sleep too…"

Fumbling on the night stand next to the bed, he groped and presented Holly with her treasured baby doll, the one she'd been clutching all day yesterday at Mary's and Marshall's in the midst of the decorating.

The doll was far more run-down and trashed than Lizzie's Pretzel, but she was certainly well-loved. Squishy and a shade of peach, she wore a pale pink dress and bonnet, her eyes stitched with black thread into her face. Though Peter had gone back to the house early in the day, Marshall was aware he'd forgotten this particular jewel, and he'd done the honors of going by to get it on his way into the hospital for the second time.

"Oh – look!" Peter put on a face of mock-awe. "Uncle Marshall remembered Chrissie! He is so smart!"

"Here you go, Jolly…" Marshall held out the toy for her to take, donning her cheerful even though she was the furthest thing from. "Give her some love."

Reluctantly, Holly did take beloved Chrissie, but her eyes remained dark. The way she continued to glower at her uncle seemed to say that a silly baby doll was hardly enough to advance her temperament, but that she'd take what she could get. In any case, she heeded Marshall's advice and pressed Chrissie to her chest, closing her lids and deciding she was unable to face the outside world for a mere moment.

"Thanks so much, Marshall…" Peter was grateful as he patted Holly's back like his life depended on it. "I can't believe I forgot her; she takes that thing everywhere…"

"You were otherwise occupied," the other man declared. "I didn't mind swinging by. If there's anything else you find you've misplaced, Mary or I can run back to the house and get it; it's no trouble."

"Thanks," Peter said again. "I'm just…kind of scatterbrained right now…"

"Believe me, it's understandable."

"If I could just get Brandi a little more involved…"

It sounded like Peter wasn't going to finish his thought regardless, but the door swayed inward admitting a doctor and nurse, preventing him from going any further. It was probably lucky for both of them that he hadn't been able to slight his wife, what with Holly around, and the physicians gave him a good excuse not to do so.

Marshall immediately moved out of the way in the presence of experts, noticing only at the last minute that Mary was with them. The doctor was male, but looked fairly young; Marshall would guess him to be in his mid-thirties. The nurse was older, around Mary's age, but like Mary, she didn't look it. Only the few wrinkles in her face gave her away; her hair was styled in brunette waves cascading down her chest, her scrubs tinted a soft yellow and patterned with butterflies.

"Well, hello Holly…" the doctor greeted the father and daughter pleasantly, but Holly immediately shrunk inward under Peter's chin. "Good to finally meet you. I'm Doctor Banks, and this is my friend Shannon," he pointed at his nurse.

Much to Marshall's surprise, Holly actually spoke upon hearing this, "Shannon, Lizzie…" incoherent as it was.

"What was that?" Doctor Banks prompted, glancing to Peter for assistance.

"Did you say Lizzie?" he murmured at the child.

Holly nodded, "Shannon, Lizzie and Aun' Mary…"

"Oh, her name is Shannon, just like Lizzie's middle name – after Aunt Mary," Marshall caught on faster than the others, still shocked Holly had taken the initiative she'd displayed. "Isn't that cool? They all have the same name…"

"Lizzie is her cousin," Peter explained quickly. "And that's Aunt Mary over there…" he pointed to the door where his sister-in-law was lurking. "And Uncle Marshall; Mary is her mother's sister…"

"Ah, excellent-excellent…" Doctor Banks bobbed his head in recognition. "Splendid. Well, Holly I want to see how you're feeling now that you're awake; would that be okay?"

Mary, now that she'd rejoined the examination, couldn't help wondering why this guy was asking Holly for permission. He was going to do whatever he wanted no matter what she said or how she screamed. Mary knew that she could never be a doctor, inflicting pain on other people even if it did serve a purpose. With WITSEC, her job was to take the pain away, or keep it from getting closer.

Thoughts of pain made her think that perhaps this was a good time for her and Marshall to see themselves out, allowing Peter and Holly to have some privacy. She nudged her husband's shoulder before speaking to the room at large.

"We'll be outside, Peter…" she announced, backing toward the door and pulling Marshall along with her.

The mentioned looked up just as the doctor was about to start peering into Holly's eyes with a flashlight, "Did you reach Brandi?"

Disappointed not to have better news on this front, Mary could only hunch her shoulders, "I'm working on it."

Peter nodded, looking dismayed but not all together surprised, before allowing Mary and Marshall to go on their merry way. Mary couldn't help feeling appreciative that she was going to be relieved of the hospital room for awhile. Marshall had been right when he'd said the night before that she had an aversion to hospitals. The memories they brought on were not especially forgiving.

It was possibly this realization that made Mary feel she could speak more freely outside the door, as if all her clandestine endeavors had to stay in the vault while in Holly's presence. Given that what she was thinking was none too favorable, this was probably a good thing.

"I don't know where the hell my sister is," Mary hissed at her man, not even bothering to journey out to the waiting room, instead planting herself to the spot. "I called her, but she didn't answer, so then I called Jinx…"

"Did Jinx pick up?" Marshall broke in, an unwise choice, but too late for regrets.

"I was getting there, doofus," Mary snapped. "Jinx went to that barbecue place downtown because its Brandi's favorite; I guess she thought if she bought her some food she liked, she'd actually eat…"

"But?" Marshall sensed the tone.

"But, Brandi didn't go with her. Mom said she left her behind, here at the hospital, because Brandi said she wanted to 'get some air' or some such shit like that…"

Marshall sliced through her mutterings, "So, she's somewhere in the hospital."

"Not necessarily," Mary corrected him. "It probably means she's out wandering around somewhere, depending on what she means by 'get some air.' Jinx said she'd try calling her again. How far could she have gotten? Especially if she didn't take the car."

"Wouldn't the real question be: why did she leave in the first place?" Marshall presented, eyebrows raised so high they were in danger of vanishing into his hairline.

"It would be," the blonde would only meet him halfway. "If I understood any part of the kind of mother Brandi is, and that one's getting tougher to figure out."

XXX

**A/N: Just as an FYI…Holly's dialogue is supposed to be disjointed. I haven't spent a ton of time around two/three year olds, but I know that a lot of them speak in fragments. I say this so you know her speaking isn't typos – although I have my fair share of those sometimes anyway!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I so-so appreciate the sweet comments you all leave. You guys are one of the few things keeping me smiling these days.**

XXX

Mary wasn't able to reach Brandi on her phone until at least a half hour after Holly had awoken, and then it took her another ten minutes to get back to the hospital. By this time, Mary was close to seething, dying to know what could be more important than her daughter, but Marshall kept her from blowing a gasket. With both parents and a grandmother in tow, he finessed some excuses so that they could return home – stating that they'd overstayed their welcome and the like, although Peter had none of this explanation. Brandi, on the other hand, seemed glad for their exit, knowing she had escaped a grilling from her big sister.

It was inching toward five thirty by the time the two inspectors made it home, and Mary was starting to feel the dull emptiness she experienced when she'd been away from Ben and Lizzie for too long. She was always afraid of missing something vital, or of not being there when they needed her. However, when she and Marshall walked through the front door, it didn't seem as though the kids were feeling any sort of loss whatsoever.

The house was warm and busy, the lamps on the end tables creating a soft yellow glow, beating inward like they were ensconced in a cozy hub. Someone had turned the tree lights on, creating still more atmosphere; noises were coming from the kitchen, which indicated Delia might be cooking dinner. Beatrix was napping on the couch and Ben was standing on the ledge of the fireplace, Lizzie handing him something that Mary couldn't make out, but both of them came to a halt upon hearing their parents arrive.

"Benny, you're being careful with those lights, aren't you?" Mary indexed Delia's voice from far away, slightly stricter than she was used to. "Remember I told you not to play in the socket; that's dangerous…"

"It's not dangerous for _Bullet_!" Lizzie proclaimed excitedly. "You don't get electrocuted, right Ben? I mean, Bullet…" she shook her head like she was warding off a fly.

"Don't try this at home, kids!" was Ben's lofty response, and his mother saw that he was waving an extra strand of Christmas bulbs in his fingers, trying to drape them around the mantle.

"Put them up higher, Ben…" Lizzie encouraged.

"I can't reach…" he muttered, standing on tiptoe, clearly not wanting to admit this too loudly.

"You could stand on a chair…"

It was then that Marshall made their presence known, "And here I thought our Bullet had already learned to fly."

Both kids whirled around, toothy smiles on their faces, Ben nearly losing his balance and toppling off the lip of the fireplace before regaining his composure. Lizzie jumped up and down on the spot, hands waving in all directions like she couldn't wait to spout off, which was not a color you often saw on the little girl.

"Daddy-daddy! Hi daddy…!" she abandoned her brother and raced forward, just as she had many hours before at breakfast. Marshall wrapped her into a quick hug before allowing her to continue her chatter, "Ben and me are doing more decorating! Delia said we could put up more lights!"

"Oh, well isn't that nice of her," Marshall mused, tweaking her curls, which at the moment were tied off in pigtails; Delia's handiwork if ever Mary had seen it. "And even nicer that she did not drag out every box…" he couldn't help noticing that the rug was free of mess; only one carton stood open on the coffee table.

"Hey mom!" Ben joined the group just as fervently, having dropped the bulbs onto the hardwood in his zest. "Guess what?"

Mary covered introductions first, "How are you, bud?" bending to drop a kiss on his soft mop of hair.

"Good," Ben replied speedily. "Guess what?" he was impervious.

"What?" Mary knew she had to play along, no matter how preoccupied or tired she might be.

"Delia took us to the park and to the movies and to get ice cream! I got strawberry bubblegum because it helps with my invisibility!"

Mary knew he was inventing the last portion, but the first part was likely true. Although the woman usually looked down upon all the overindulgence Delia engaged in when it came to the twins, she couldn't help being grateful this time that she'd gone to great lengths to please them. They'd needed the distraction, what with everything going on with Holly, and it made her worry less about them getting bored and causing their babysitter trouble.

"Sounds like you two had quite a day," Mary remarked, eyes traveling back and forth between both her son and daughter. "Were you good for Delia?"

"Perfect angels…" the third inspector piped up, strolling in from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Like always," she even nipped Lizzie's chin to prove it, although it was Ben who wore the self-satisfied smirk.

"What movie did you see?" Marshall interjected, taking Delia's word for it in terms of the children's behavior.

"The one with the funny bears that meet the people in the woods and they have to take care of the baby bears because otherwise the hunters will get them…" Lizzie launched right in, but was soon interrupted by Ben.

"We should've seen the one with the robots that take over the city!" he volunteered just as passionately, but sparing nary a second to shoot his twin any sort of dirty looks. "It looked _way_ cooler. I saw the commercial on TV; they smash buildings!"

Even though Ben hadn't insulted her in the least, Lizzie wilted noticeably with his account of events. Mary watched curiously as she mumbled at the floor, her skin pink.

"I thought it looked scary…" her voice was barely louder than a whisper, but both Mary and Delia picked up on her shame; Marshall was occupied with Ben's storytelling and missed it.

Before the blonde could question what had gone on, Delia stepped in with a tender hand on Lizzie's hair, "I thought the bear movie would be a good compromise. Sweet Lizzie here was interested in something with princesses, but Ben put the kibosh on that…"

"Right," Mary was still listening intently, trying to hear over her son's babble.

"But, I didn't want to send her to the robot thing; I know she's…" Delia glanced around for a moment, choosing her phrases with care. "I know she's a little sensitive," the rest was reported in an undertone.

Mary had to be slightly impressed that her colleague was so in-the-know about the workings of her kids' minds. It was true that she spent a decent amount of time with them, but this was unprecedented. Although dejected that Lizzie felt the need to hide that certain films bothered her, this was far from Delia's fault; it wouldn't matter what had gone on and it was likely the little girl would've still felt she had to apologize for being touchy.

"Well Liz, what did you think of the bear movie?" her mother asked to get the child's mind off the topic of choices. "Nothing too chilling in there, I bet," she assumed it was animation, appropriate for all ages.

"Just one part," she admitted with a shrug. "The hunters had guns, and they weren't using them to help people like you and daddy do."

Delia cast an endearing look Mary's direction upon hearing this, but the parent strove forward to avoid Lizzie brooding about the weapons.

"But, you remember what to do when there's something on the screen you don't like?" she prompted, hoping Lizzie hadn't been too shy to protect herself.

"I covered my eyes," the girl reported in something of a prideful tone.

"Good," Mary concluded. And then she got on to more important matters, "Thanks for taking the unexpected double shift, Delia. You know I don't like leaving the kids with just anybody, and obviously Jinx wasn't available…"

"I don't mind at all," the shorter gave a most expected response, but Mary was glad to hear it all the same. "I started dinner for these two; it's almost done, just chicken nuggets and macaroni. The macaroni's already on the counter and the nuggets should be out of the oven in a few."

"That's great," Mary was feeling even more charitable now that she knew she didn't have to fix a meal. "You should feel free to hit the road. Marshall and I can take it from here."

At this, her man finally tuned back into the discussion they were having, cutting across Ben's detailed saga about a movie he hadn't even seen.

"Yes Delia, we are most indebted to your contribution today…"

"Dad!" Ben whined, yanking on the hem of his shirt. "I wasn't done!"

"You are now," Mary butted in before Marshall could reply, the fatigue she was feeling starting to rear its head as impatience. "Dad's talking. It's rude to interrupt."

While Mary was not the first person to school anyone on manners, she still felt Ben needed the reminder. He was obviously very worked up from his day of swinging, sliding, popcorn-eating, movie-watching, and ice-cream-devouring, not to mention the extra decorating. Someone was going to have to take him down a notch sooner rather than later.

"If you guys don't need anything else, I think I will be on my way…" Delia indicated the door to cover up for the debacle going on with Ben, who had scowled at being told to stuff it. "Don't hesitate to give me a buzz next time, though. Goodbye darlings…" altering her attention to Ben and Lizzie, she stooped down to receive a few hugs, although the boy's came with some reluctance. "I had such a lovely time. I'll see you later, okay?"

The children called a series of farewells as Marshall walked Delia to the door, in spite of the fact that they were not standing too far from the foyer. Mary took it upon herself to stroll on into the kitchen, stepping over a few strands of lights that had been left on the floor. She spotted the macaroni and cheese Delia had made, complete with two plastic bowls waiting nearby, ready to be dished up. The oven timer told her she had three minutes before the chicken nuggets could be eaten. After the disgusting hospital food she'd choked down throughout the day, this spread was looking pretty good.

Once Delia had departed, Marshall gave instructions for the twins to clean up the living room, stating that they could finish spangling the fireplace if there was time before bed. After that, he assisted his wife in preparing what was left of supper, setting places for where they could eat at the island. What felt like an hour but was really only ten minutes later, they were all seated in their barstools, Mary and Lizzie on one side, Ben and Marshall on the other.

And it took only a few moments between the general five-year-old chit chat for one of the kids to broach the subject Mary was hoping they could leave until tomorrow.

"Mama…" Lizzie began, gnawing off the head of her nugget and chewing heartily. "Is Holly still sick or is she coming home?"

Mary shot Marshall a significant glance over her pile of cheesy macaroni, wasting a few seconds wiping her mouth on her napkin. Without saying anything, she knew he was going to give her clearance to say whatever she wanted on this front. She was the one who was married to the truth, not him.

After swallowing her sip of wine, she hastened to react to her daughter, "Holly is still sick," repeating the child's own phrasing helped to reinforce the point. "I don't know when she'll get to go home, but probably not for several days. Maybe longer."

"How many is several?" Ben asked, turning to Marshall as though he was the only one with the solution.

"Three or four," he supplied. "But, like mom said, she might have to stay longer. She's pretty little, and it might take some time for her to get better. Nobody knows for sure."

"What's the matter with her?" Ben wanted to know, shoveling in macaroni like a snowplow.

Mary diverted momentarily upon seeing his caveman displays, "Chew with your mouth closed."

This was an admonition he was used to and didn't take pot shots at his character, and so he obeyed without complaint. At his inquiry, Lizzie began to appear tentative, a cross between intrigued and afraid. Mary could only guess this came from wanting to know what had happened to her little cousin, but being horrified about how severe it might be.

After Ben had gulped down his noodles, he grew keen for information, "So, what's wrong with her?"

Again, Marshall wouldn't take his eyes off his wife. He might be giving her free reign, but that didn't mean he wouldn't step in if he felt she was getting too graphic. While she rarely went the whole nine yards in terms of honesty, he was so fiercely protective, particularly of Lizzie, that he had the tendency to want to stretch the facts on occasion.

"She has something called meningitis," Mary explained carefully. "And she broke a big bone in her leg when she fell off her ladder – this bone here…"

Fumbling under the counter, she ran her hand up and down Lizzie's shin, causing Ben to sit up in his seat.

"I can't see…"

"Right here…" Marshall indulged him by pointing at his own limbs, which kept him quiet and content.

"Anyway," Mary continued as though they hadn't gone adrift. "Meningitis is sort of like having the flu really badly – kind of," specifics were unnecessary. "It gave Holly a really high fever…"

"That's where your head gets hot!" Ben chimed in helpfully, harking back to his knowledge from the night before.

"And she has a cough. I'm not sure what else…" she supposed Holly could've experienced more symptoms than this, but given that she'd been asleep for most of the day, it had been hard for Mary to tell. "But, she's very sick…"

"She feels pretty crummy," Marshall contributed. "The doctors don't want her to go home until they're sure she's okay. They'll need to fix her leg too, but they're waiting until her meningitis improves."

Though Marshall often tried to dumb himself down so the kids would understand him, Mary had to wonder if either Ben or Lizzie knew what 'improves' meant. She would take a gander that Ben did because he was like a sponge, but Lizzie often cast off all the vocabulary lessons.

However, if she was at all confused, she didn't say so and instead latched on to a different statement entirely, forgetting her dinner all together.

"How will they fix her leg?" she voiced timidly. "Doesn't it hurt her because it's broken?"

"They'll have to do surgery," Marshall relayed gently. "Remember, we talked about people who have surgery. The doctors and nurses put them to sleep so they can't feel what's going on. They'll do the same thing with Holly."

Unfortunately, his composed demeanor didn't seem to relinquish Lizzie of her worries. Sitting so close to her, Mary could see the way she was beginning to fidget in her chair, the way she often did when fear got the better of her. Knowing Lizzie for over five years didn't make her any easier to understand at times. After all, it wasn't _her_ that was going to have an operation. What was she so agitated about?

Mary was about to ask her what the problem was, but Marshall beat her to it.

"Lizzie, what's bothering you?" his voice was soft and completely lacking in any sort of annoyance; he always wanted his children to be able to talk through their feelings. "Are you scared because of what happened to Holly?"

Ben chose this inopportune moment to rejoin them, bringing with him a question that made his mother lose tolerance in two seconds; her fuse was incredibly short, and her son was the ill-fated individual to set it off.

"Is Holly going to die?"

It was the way he brought it up so bluntly that did it, "Ben!" Mary slammed her fork down where it made a loud clang, her harshness sending Lizzie into quivers. "Don't talk like that, you hear me?!"

"I was just _asking_!"

It was no good telling him that most people would consider this horribly insensitive; he was five. He didn't get it. But, that didn't stop Marshall from trying to impart his wisdom.

"Ben, you need to think about other people's feelings when you say things like that. Imagine if Aunt Brandi heard you. That would really upset her…"

Mention of Brandi did zero for Mary's mood, "You are upsetting your sister!" for Lizzie had begun to cry at all the tension and uncertainty.

"I don't want Holly to die!" she bellowed, throwing her head back rather dramatically. "I don't want Holly to die; I'd miss her! I'd miss her lots and lots and lots…"

"Lizzie, Holly isn't…" Marshall cut himself off at the warning look on Mary's face, willing him not to lie. "I don't think Holly's going to die," he settled on this. "The doctors are taking good care of her."

"They're like superheroes!" Ben put in his knowledge, unabashed by his mother's scolding. "That's what mom said. Right, mom?"

But, Mary was busy trying to comfort her weepy little girl, who was dripping tears all over her jeans, shaking from trying to hold it together as well as from all the potential horrors in store for her younger cousin. An arm around her back was sufficient right now, as was a kiss on her cheek.

"Don't cry, baby…" she whispered, although somewhat gruffly. "Ben didn't mean what he said."

Deep down, Mary wasn't truly angry with Ben; it was Brandi who she wanted to lay into, but she wasn't available, and everyone expected her to tiptoe around her because of the ordeal she was going through. That sort of attitude only went so far with someone like Mary and it was regrettable that Ben was getting the brunt of her aggravation.

Lizzie hiccupped at the consoling, "B-but…B-Ben's afraid she might…" now she was fabricating her own version of what her brother had cooked up.

Fortunately, he set her straight, "Naw, I don't," he waved a carefree hand, as if he hadn't articulated anything remotely offensive. "As soon as I get to visit her, I'll make her a zillion times better." Mary let this promise go in favor of dealing with his next query, "When will that be, mom? Can we see Holly tomorrow?"

It was this that made Lizzie come out of her fog, staring up at Mary with glitter in her oceanic eyes, her pigtails slightly tangled – probably from her windswept morning at the park. Annoyance aside, Mary still hated to disappoint a face so pure.

"Can we mama?" she echoed Ben. "Please?"

The inspector sighed, worn out even though she'd done nothing but wait around all day. The lack of sleep didn't even register with her; she'd had days far more rigorous than this one and had never bat an eye. Why was she so exhausted?

"I don't think so guys…" sometimes, she resented being the bad cop, even though Marshall didn't fit the bill. "It…it's complicated…I mean…" running a hand over her eyes, trying to collect a little precision. "Just…I doubt Holly is going to be up for visitors…"

On this front, she looked to Marshall for assistance; he too had set his knife and fork aside to donate to the discussion. Their macaroni and nuggets would grow cold soon; only Ben was still eating.

"But, I bet she would love to see you both after she goes home. I know that may be awhile, but I think mom talked to you about making her some cards…"

"Can we buy her gifts?" Ben suggested enthusiastically, nearly knocking his milk glass onto the floor in his exuberance. "She'd like gifts!"

Mary knew full well that there was more behind her son's generosity than being altruistic. He was manic in toy stores, claiming to need everything on the shelves, even ridiculous items he would never play with. With Christmas coming up, he was going through a very greedy streak, though Mary and Marshall tried hard to keep both his feet on the ground.

"A present or two wouldn't be a bad idea," Marshall gave in. "Why don't you two think about what she might want and we'll see if we can get some early birthday gifts, yeah?"

Ben was shrewd enough to realize he was being duped here, but chose not to argue the point. Mary was just glad Lizzie was calming down, although she didn't relish talk about Holly's birthday. It would arrive quickly, as it was the day after Christmas. Regardless of the fact that it was only December fifteenth, she had come to learn quite speedily how fast things like holidays and special occasions snuck up on you. She couldn't admit it to Brandi and Peter, but even she was worried Holly wouldn't be out of the hospital by the anniversary of her third year.

"Holly really will get better, daddy?" Lizzie inquired in a small voice, just to make sure now that things weren't quite so stressful and Mary had stopped yelling.

"I hope she will," he answered confidently. "She got a lot of rest today and that will help a lot. If you have any more questions you can ask though, okay?"

Lizzie nodded solemnly, "Okay."

Glad that they had detoured around the brutality of meningitis, Mary took them even further off the beaten track, "Finish your dinner – both of you. Dad and I will help you finish with the fireplace before pajamas."

"Yes!" Ben pumped his fist triumphantly and immediately began chugging his milk, ready to get cracking, and Lizzie soon followed suit, but with more discretion.

Before Mary could return to her own meal, however, she shared a meaningful glimpse with Marshall. She knew they were both thinking the same thing. They had one kid who in no way grasped just how much trouble Holly was in, and another who was so concerned about the little one she was liable to start sobbing at the drop of a hat.

Between the children's contrasting personalities, Brandi's secrecy, Peter running himself ragged, and the looming decision of whether or not to vaccinate Ben and Lizzie so they didn't end up in the same situation, Mary could only guess what tomorrow would bring.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, Ben! He doesn't mean to be blunt LOL! Hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thanks to those who are sticking with me! I am forever in your debt! A special shout-out to ladypuercoloco for leaving me such a kind, detailed review (not that all of you aren't kind)! A new character appears in this one…**

XXX

A sleepy and grey Sunday morning was preceded by a very quiet night in the Mann-Shannon household. Everyone having been up at all hours the night before meant they snoozed soundly in their beds until well after seven A.M., when Ben finally burst forth from his bunk, claiming he could be held captive no longer.

The plan was to have Mary return to the hospital after breakfast while Marshall stayed home with the kids, both of them deciding not to impose on Delia another time. Neither had heard from Brandi or Peter since leaving the evening prior, and were left to assume that no news was good news. However, they received an unexpected visitor around nine thirty, Ben and Lizzie still in their pajamas and eating bowls of fruit in front of the television. Mary and Marshall had both managed to get dressed before the fact this time, not looking quite as rumpled as they had when Delia had shown her face.

It was Marshall who went to answer the rapping knock, unsure who would come to call so early on a Sunday. Even through the frosted glass, he couldn't recognize the individual waiting for him, and when he undid the deadbolt and turned the knob, he was faced with a woman he still couldn't place.

She was wearing jeans and a dark red winter parka with faux fur lining the hood, her hands sheltered inside a pair of black driving gloves. Her hair was the color of honey, a gorgeous amber hue shining far brighter than anything in the surrounding winter bleakness that was Albuquerque. Although not appreciably cold outside, given the fact that it was December, she was shivering on the spot and rubbing her arms for warmth.

"Hi…" Marshall greeted her first, thinking it was likely her teeth might start chattering if she tried to talk. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah…" she was breathless, even if her pearly whites weren't clicking together. "Are you um…Marshall?" it took her a moment to come up with the name.

"I am," he nodded soundly. "And you are…?"

"Oh, sorry…" she gave a flighty chuckle, working a gloved hand out from beneath her clamped arms. "My name's Rachel – Rachel Alpert." Marshall looked blank for a mere moment until she continued, "I'm Peter's sister?"

The question on the tail end convinced the man she was still afraid she'd come to the wrong place, and he suddenly realized he ought to invite her in out of the cold, especially now that he knew who she was.

"Oh, of course!" he almost boomed in trying to cover up his error. "I apologize; we haven't met. I remember you were out of the country when Brandi and Peter got married…"

"Right…"

Stepping aside, "Well, come in; come in. It is brisk out there."

"Thank-you," Rachel reciprocated with a giggle, moving onto the doormat and stamping her feet even though she likely had not trailed through mud because they hadn't had rain in a week or two; it was probably a habit. "I'm…I'm sorry to stop by unannounced like this…"

"Well, I admit it's a surprise, but no matter," Marshall was as gentlemanly as ever, Mary catching snatches of voices from where she'd been perusing the Sunday paper in the kitchen. "What brings you to our humble abode?"

It was a moment before Rachel dove into details, first asking Marshall if she could take her coat off, which he took care to hang on a hook. Once that was accomplished, she stuffed her gloves in the pocket and got on with his inquest. Mary stayed where she was, having been unable to discern who Marshall was speaking to, deciding she could wait and see if the woman stayed before bothering with introductions. She was too far into the kitchen to see that Marshall had already allowed their guest admittance.

"Well…I drove in from Raton early this morning…"

"That's a hefty trip," Marshall asserted. "You must have left before dawn's early light."

"Pretty much," Rachel gave a nervous laugh. "Peter gave me directions to the hospital, but I got kind of turned around coming off the freeway – I'm such a dope; he said it's practically impossible to get lost and I still managed it." Marshall gave an understanding nod, inviting her to go on, "But, he'd also given me your address, just in case, and I was able to track you down."

"I see," Marshall offered.

"Peter said on the phone that one of you might be going over to the hospital this morning. Is there any chance I could follow you? I'm sure I sound so inept…"

"No, of course not," the man swore with his trademark politeness. "We'd be happy to lead the way. Can I get you something hot to drink before we head out though? We have coffee…" he gestured in the direction of the pot on the counter.

"That would be great," Rachel accepted. "Thanks so much."

"No problem…"

But, just as Marshall was about to step off and start brewing a mug, Mary came into view at last. She was sliding her own cup back and forth between her fingers to keep her hands warm; looking mildly bemused at all the activity happening in her entryway with a woman she did not know. Marshall almost bumped into her turning around, but was quick to begin pleasantries.

"Oh, Mary…" he said with a certain degree of surprise, catching himself on her forearm.

"What's going on?" she wanted to know, shaking him off with her radar buzzing because she never liked having unknown folk in her house, no matter how seemingly harmless.

"This is Rachel – this is Peter's sister," he clarified. "She came in – I assume to see Holly?" he glanced at their guest quickly because they hadn't actually made it that far in their discussion, but there was no other reason she would've taken a road trip to Albuquerque. "She was hoping she could follow you over to the hospital since she doesn't know the area too well."

"Oh…" Mary articulated somewhat flatly, instinct causing her to glance over her shoulder to see to it that the kids were still occupied with the TV. "Okay. Where'd you drive from?"

"Raton," she replied, repeating herself. "I tried to get here as soon as I could, but my job is kind of a mess at the moment…"

Uninterested in excuses, Mary realized she hadn't established her presence yet, "Right. Well, I'm Mary –Brandi's sister," although it was likely she'd already put two and two together on this front.

"Yeah," Rachel nodded slowly. "I was looking forward to meeting you both at the wedding a few years back, but I'm something of a jet-setter; work takes me everywhere and I was stuck in Europe."

Given that Brandi and Peter had gotten married upwards of six years ago now, Mary had hardly registered that they'd missed meeting Rachel on that occasion. She wasn't sure why she was feeling any ill-will toward Peter's sibling, and she wasn't even sure that was the way to describe the emotion. It was simply difficult to allow someone else into their circle; she was used to it being Marshall, the twins, Jinx, Peter, Brandi, and Holly. Hal and Dora, Peter's parents, had retired to Arizona and were rarely around; Rachel showing up threw Mary for a loop – no more, no less.

And yet, the newcomer must've sensed some iciness because she backed down slightly, "It really…it's crazy we haven't met before now," she shrugged.

"Better late than never," Marshall decided, giving Mary a sharp nudge with his elbow. "I'll grab you that coffee; come on in."

Mary had the unwavering belief that Marshall had left her alone with Rachel on purpose so she'd learn to play nice, and she didn't appreciate it. Nonetheless, she could be cordial when she had to and motioned with her hand for the other woman to follow them further into the house, stopping short where Ben and Lizzie were still glued to the television set.

"Hey, you two!" Mary called in order to avoid making small talk with Rachel. "Did you get enough to eat?"

This tore Lizzie away, at least, and she clambered down off the couch, slap-patting on her bare feet across the hardwood. This morning, she wore sunny yellow pajamas with buttons and flannel, little blue polka dots spattered across the fabric. They were a bit long in the cuffs, and Lizzie had to be careful not to trip.

"Can I have more strawberries, mama?" she asked, holding out her empty bowl, her huge round eyes falling briefly onto the stranger in the room. "No more raspberries…"

"Yeah, I'm sorry I forgot you don't like raspberries…" Mary apologized and took the bowl, registering for the second time that it was vacant. "Did you eat them anyway?"

"Ben did," she whispered, like she might be in trouble, gaze still straying toward Rachel. "Is it okay I shared?"

"Yes, it's fine," Mary shoved this out of the way. "Hey, can you say hello?" jerking her thumb over her shoulder at the curious lady looking out of place in their unit of four. "This is Rachel. She's Uncle Peter's sister – Holly's aunt."

Predictably, Lizzie wiggled into the curve of Mary's figure, not at all partial to new arrivals, "You're Holly's aunt," she murmured under her breath to her mother.

It was possible this might be confusing, "Well, Rachel is Holly's aunt too – we both are." Addressing the woman in question this time, "This is Elizabeth – Liz, or Lizzie, whichever you prefer. She answers to any of the above."

Rachel chuckled, stooping down to meet the little girl's suspicious gaze, "Hi Lizzie. Your Uncle Peter's told me about you. It's so nice to finally see you in person."

Lizzie said absolutely nothing, not even a peep, instead choosing to rummage further behind Mary's back. In the attendance of the unknown, it only highlighted just how shy and introverted she could be, but Mary was used to this and didn't intend to be embarrassed by it. In lieu of pushing her daughter, she rerouted to the next logical topic.

"That boy resembling a vegetable over there is Ben," Mary referred to her son's glazed eyes, paying rapt attention to the show blaring on the television. "You'll never see him sitting that still again, so take a picture while it lasts."

Rachel gave another polite laugh and stood up once more, seeing that Lizzie wasn't going to bite.

"They're twins, right?"

"Yeah," Mary confirmed.

"That's what I thought – Peter's mentioned them several times, and how much Holly enjoys playing with them."

'Playing' was an interesting way to put it, Mary thought, not to mention including it with a word like 'enjoy.' Yes, Holly let herself have fun once she got going, usually with Lizzie, but she was a very serious child; much more so than the twins. It distressed Mary when she thought about it too hard, because she knew it was likely a result of the turmoil Brandi and Peter experienced in their marriage. She realized at once that Rachel might not know that there was any 'turmoil' to speak of – not yet, anyway.

"Yeah, we have Holly over quite a bit," the inspector decided to say. Turning back to the floor to get rid of Lizzie, "Ask daddy for some more strawberries, all right? I'll be there in a minute."

Her daughter scooted off without another word, glad to be relieved of engaging with Rachel. Feeling some measure of resentment toward Marshall for asking her to stay for a few minutes when they had nothing to say, Mary redirected her to the couch, lifting Ben into her lap, but he scarcely seemed to notice.

"So…um…" Rachel made the attempt at beginning conversation this time. "Have you guys; um…have you seen Holly? Peter didn't really give me an update the last time we talked…"

"Marshall and I were at the hospital all day yesterday," Mary replied. "But, Holly didn't wake up until late afternoon. She seems okay – confused as hell, but I figure that's par for the course."

"Of course," Rachel reiterated, bobbing her head and crossing her legs where she sat at the opposite end of the sofa. "I really don't see much of her, living three hours away and being so busy with work…"

Why did she keep saying that? Didn't she think Mary and Marshall were busy? Did she not know what they did for a living?

"But, I wanted to come and see how Peter was holding up. I'm worried about him."

While this was a perfectly understandable reason for wanting to make the trip into Albuquerque, Mary couldn't help cataloging in her brain how Rachel's tone had altered upon telling Mary this. She'd arched her eyebrows and her timbre rose slightly higher, like she wanted Mary to pick up on some kind of subliminal messages. Was she looking for clues about Peter's behavior? To tell her what, exactly?

"What are you worried about?" Mary posed perceptively. "I mean, anything other than the obvious?" she wasn't going to pretend she hadn't picked up on this shift in dialogue.

Now only one eyebrow remained bent, as though Mary was being dim. Here Rachel had only been in the house ten minutes and she was already concluding that Brandi's sister was far from insightful.

"Peter's very fragile."

It was Mary's turn to balk, wrinkling her brows rather than elevating them. She shifted Ben on her lap, and he took it upon himself to crawl off her knees and into the space between her and Rachel. By looking at him, you'd never know there was one extra person in the house; he became robotic when attached to his superhero cartoons, which was why Mary and Marshall tried to limit his intake, but it wasn't always possible.

Regardless, she forgot Ben and got back to Rachel.

"He is," Mary stated plainly, refusing to sound at all dense, but also making sure she did not appear to agree.

"Of course he is," Rachel insisted, still with that sense of superiority which irked Mary. "He doesn't react well when his life doesn't turn out the way he thinks it's supposed to. He doesn't deal with adversity well."

This off-putting view of her brother-in-law was obnoxious to Mary. She didn't consider her and Peter overly close, but they were certainly closer than they'd used to be given how long he and Brandi had been together. But, no matter how tight or how far apart they were, she'd always felt a certain level of loyalty toward him, mostly because she didn't want Brandi to screw him up or deceive him somehow. With a jolt, she realized that Rachel's opinion about her sibling wasn't that different than Mary's about her own sister. Funny, how it could look so negative from the other side of the fence.

But, she had good reason to be suspicious of Brandi, the elder sister reminded herself. Rachel had no justifications for doubting Peter. It was completely different.

"I think…maybe you'd change your tune if you saw how he's dealing with what's happened to Holly," Mary settled on something diplomatic, but knew she still looked bewildered. "He's been fantastic – as devoted as they come."

This account didn't sway Rachel, "He'll crack. I know my brother. When the pressure builds up, he can't handle it."

Now Mary couldn't help scoffing, not wanting to look unbecoming in front of Ben, but it came without warning.

"Why would you say that? What's he done that would make you think he'll fall apart?"

She made the judgment sound blatantly obvious, "He's an alcoholic."

Mary had to admit that she was fairly nonplussed by this as an explanation, but it was clear that Rachel expected the light to dawn with her revelation. Frankly, it was a surprise even to herself that Mary didn't look at Holly's circumstances as a trigger for Peter to relapse. If it had been someone else in her family, she'd probably have been as cynical as Rachel, but not this time.

"I don't see what being an alcoholic has to do with it," Mary knew she came off snide, but a part of her meant to. "Peter's been sober as long as I've known him."

"Well, he hasn't as long as I've known him," Rachel was flippant, not entirely picking up on Mary's signals. "You weren't around when he tried going to rehab four different times…"

"It was Alcoholics Anonymous that worked for Peter," Mary knew this much was true, because that was how he and Brandi had met, although wasn't entirely sure if it was the same thing as rehab. "And, it's not like…"

But Rachel interrupted, "I just don't want him to get hurt, or make this harder for himself than it already is," there was a kind of pseudo virtuousness about this woman; Mary was sure she meant well, but she was going about it the wrong way. "He needs someone here that will keep him from slipping."

Mary opened her mouth to fire back that Peter had her and Marshall, not to mention Jinx even if he didn't have Brandi, but realized before she got anything out that Rachel wouldn't take this to heart. But, the longer she laid out all the 'facts' the more irritated Mary became. It didn't sound like Rachel and Peter saw all that much of each other, that Rachel immersed herself in her work and didn't make allowances for her family outside of emergencies. How much could she know about Peter's mind set anyway?

"Well, I'm sure he'll appreciate you coming, but just because he's an alcoholic it doesn't mean he's fragile," to use the stranger's words.

"It doesn't sound like you have experience with alcoholics."

Now Mary laughed out loud, a robust guffaw that was definitely designed to put Rachel off the mark. A perfectly nice person, she might be, but her skewed viewpoint on things needed to be nipped in the bud.

Still chortling, "My mother is an alcoholic, and I watched her self-destruct until the time I was thirty-seven years old. So, something tells me your experience has nothing on mine."

This shut Rachel up quickly, clamping down on her lips in embarrassment. Though she knew she shouldn't be, Mary was cruelly fulfilled by having trumped her. She also knew she was being an awful hypocrite, acting like she had been so magnanimous with Jinx, never giving a second thought to whether or not she'd hit the bottle again. Even so, it was true that Jinx hadn't touched a drink – or even seemed to want to – since coming home from rehab eight years before. Perhaps the daughter's confidence really was building, however unintentionally.

"I'm sorry…" Rachel finally murmured, Mary beginning to wonder what was keeping Marshall and the coffee. "Peter's just…important to me. I wasn't a lot of help to him when he was recovering in the past, and I'm trying to do my best now," it was surprising that she didn't make the 'job' excuse this time.

"Well, you'll be a bigger help to him if you haven't decided he's going to tank before you even get through hello hugs."

At this, Rachel produced a shy smile, like she knew Mary was right. The other woman wasn't even trying to sound condescending, just direct. It didn't thrill her that she'd started out on a bad foot, not if they were going to be spending more time together, and was nervous about how Rachel was going to take to Brandi. She didn't know if they'd met or not, but Brandi's current brand of neglect wouldn't go over well with Rachel, especially if she thought it was hurting Peter.

"Look, I'm sure you're stressed after the drive and everything," Mary grumbled at her hands folded in her lap. "You'll figure out soon that I'm not half this bad most days. I'm worse."

Rachel grinned at the joke just as Marshall returned into their midst bearing a freshly brewed mug of coffee, Lizzie practically clinging to the back of his jeans so she wouldn't have to look Rachel in the eye.

"Here you are…" he announced, bending down to hand the beverage over. "There's sugar and cream in the kitchen if you're so inclined."

"Thank-you…" Rachel said. After taking a sip, "No, it's just right. Thanks so much."

"My pleasure," Marshall maintained. "Hey, spark…" he addressed Ben, still sitting cross-legged between the two women. "Do you want anything else for breakfast?" since he hadn't answered when Mary had asked.

Ben shook his head, "No. Dad?"

"What?"

"What's an alcoholic?"

The innocent curiosity would've been funny if not for the fact that Mary had-had no idea that Ben had been listening to them. It was stupid, of course, to assume that he hadn't heard because he'd been sitting right there, but she'd figured he was zoned in to his program – that the adult discussion was white noise. This proved he could hear out of both ears and two sides of his brain.

Marshall gaped, "What?" and glanced at Mary for enlightenment.

"What's an alcoholic?" Ben repeated before Mary could give details. "Her and mom were talking about it," his head flipped between the two bodies. "What is it? She said Uncle Peter's one," he indicated Rachel.

Marshall's mouth was still hanging open, unable to believe he'd missed so much in such a short time frame. His eyes were still with Mary, begging for some kind of clarification of how this had come up in front of their son. His wife simply shrugged and even though she didn't relish doing this in front of Rachel, when her kids came to her, she didn't hold back.

"Why don't you take Liz to get dressed?" Mary suggested before beginning, knowing that speaking about such a condition would only worry her. "I'll send him back when I'm finished."

"All right…" Marshall agreed, appreciating that she was sensible enough not to let Lizzie in on the secret. "Let's go, Lizzie Lou; find you some clothes…"

Not at all sorry to leave with her father, the daughter grasped his fingers and allowed him to guide her back to the bedroom, stumbling over her too-long pants the entire way. Once Mary was certain the door was shut, she turned back to Ben. Rachel was looking guilty again, shifting uncomfortably in her spot against the throw pillows.

"Sorry about this…" she murmured. "I didn't mean to…"

"Forget it," Mary broke into her babble, going to elucidate alcoholism the same way she would if there wasn't a guest among them. "Listen, Ben…" for posterity, his mother heaved him back onto her lap, liking it better when they were squeezed together. "There are certain drinks out there – beer, wine, champagne – you've seen me drink those, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded.

"Well, they're different from normal drinks. They have something called alcohol in them, and if you don't have too much it won't hurt you, but if you drink a whole lot it can make you sick – it can even make you act weird, in ways you wouldn't act if you hadn't been drinking."

Ben's eyes suddenly lit up, "Can I have some and see?"

"No," Mary snapped, trying to ignore Rachel, who had so clearly bit down on a laugh. "When I say 'act weird' what I really mean is 'dangerous.' You should never drive a car if you've had something to drink, because when you're being strange, chances are you really don't know how to work the car, and you could hit somebody else."

Fortunately, it seemed like Ben was getting this, "But, you can have a little bit and it won't do that to you, right?"

"Yeah, but not until you're a lot older," Mary sidetracked. "Anyway Ben, the thing is, there are some people who really shouldn't drink at all because they like beer and wine and champagne so much that they don't really know how to stop drinking…"

This was the best way she could think of to describe it, but she still didn't like the way it had come out. It was devoid of specifics, which didn't really matter because Ben wouldn't understand anyway, but she'd wanted to appear more literate in the subject. Nonetheless, she powered on in hopes that they could wrap up quickly.

"Those people who can't help themselves from drinking so much that they get sick are called alcoholics – and that's what Uncle Peter is. So is Grandma."

"Grandma too?" Ben proposed, wide-eyed.

"Yes," Mary reaffirmed. "They both had to go and get help. They learned how they can keep from drinking so they don't do anything dangerous. Does that make sense?"

Ben shrugged, unconcerned, "I guess. So, they can't drink any of those special drinks _at all_?"

"That's where it gets tricky," Mary conceded, staring down into his gorgeous, twinkling blue eyes; so untainted and full of wonder. "They really _shouldn't_ drink them at all, because they just keep going and going when they do. They become what's called 'addicted' which means it's really hard for them to give up," this was getting long-winded. "After awhile, they might start getting into trouble just to get some of those drinks, like spending a lot of money; things like that."

"Hmm…" Ben hummed thoughtfully. "That's weird. So, Uncle Peter and Grandma don't ever drink anything, even though they want to?"

"That's right," Mary nodded. "They're very strong. It took them a long time to give it up, but they did it."

"Well, that's good," the boy decided. "But, how come they're alcoholics and you're not? Or dad's not?"

The right answer to this question wasn't one Mary could've given years before; she wouldn't have had enough faith in AA or, indeed, in her mother, not to believe it came from weakness. She'd spent too much time pretending that Jinx being a black-out-drunk was a sole result of her father's abandonment when in reality, it probably would've happened no matter what.

And so, she shook her head at Ben and hunched her shoulders.

"No reason. Some people are and some people aren't. I was lucky."

And she looked specifically to Rachel when she articulated this, willing her with her steely US Marshal glare to buy into what she was saying. Given all the drama they already had going on, they didn't need her adding to it with preconceived notions about Peter and his drinking habits, or lack thereof.

Meanwhile, in the twins' room, Marshall was trying to keep things light by flipping through various outfits of Lizzie's hanging in the closet. It seemed he could do no wrong in his little girl's eyes most days; she would giggle and grin at his antics, but today nothing he said seemed to be working. Although he had his back to her while she rummaged in her bed, no happy sounds echoed from over his shoulder.

"How about something Christmassy, my dear?" he advised. "You have these delightful red leggings; I think I could scrounge up a green top for a very festive holiday look. What do you say?"

Lizzie had nothing to say at all, but Marshall spent a few minutes trying to make good on his word, flipping through hangers trying to find something emerald. Indeed, there was a long sleeved shirt – dark green with shimmering, sequined stars patterned on the upper chest. He would venture a guess this garment was Aunt Brandi's doing, as Mary would never buy something so girly.

"Now, you would be quite glitzy in this…" he declared, unhooking it from the hanger and holding it up against the crimson pants he'd already pulled. "And you have those black boots. Yes-yes, the fashion police will be calling and wanting your picture, missy…"

Still nothing. There was no reason to delay turning around, and yet Marshall still held off, pondering what might be on his daughter's mind. He and Mary were used to her being prone to tears, but lately it seemed she'd had more reason to fret, and Marshall hated that. She was just a child; she shouldn't be looking for danger behind every corner.

"I think we should give this a whirl, ma'am…"

And whirl he did, holding up the outfit with gusto, like a salesman in a department store. His wife would've been mortified had she seen him acting so cheesy, but he often keyed up his more playful side when she wasn't around, though he knew she secretly enjoyed it.

However, Marshall's games didn't get him very far. He wilted upon seeing Lizzie looking downcast, hugging something to her chest from where she stood next to her bottom bunk. A scrutinized glance told him it was Pretzel the bear.

Marshall placed the clothes on top of the dresser beside the closet and strode over to his daughter, gazing gently down at her, eyes shiny already. It wasn't even ten in the morning; she really was quite the little worrywart.

"What's the matter, my Lizzie Lou?" he wanted to know, speaking softly. He decided he would make a guess, "Are you upset because there's someone you don't know here in the house? You know that mama and I would never let anybody near you and Ben that we thought was trouble – Rachel is Uncle Peter's sister; she's perfectly safe…"

"I know…" Lizzie intoned softly, orbs on the carpet. "I was just thinking about something you said last night."

"Oh?" Marshall bent his knees so they were face-to-face and he was struck by how similar her features were to his; the angularities in her bones, the azure eyes. "What's that?"

But, then the shuddering started, "Y-you…you said…if B-Ben and I…thought of s-something to get Holly…" and then the heaving of her chest. "That we should t-tell you…"

"I did…" Marshall agreed, not wanting to show how perplexed he was by this demeanor.

"I could only think of one thing…" Lizzie's voice climbed shrilly as she tried to keep from crying.

"One thing is fine," her father swore. "More than fine. Tell me what you thought of; I bet it's a great idea."

But, his complimentary nature, meant to help rather than hinder, did just the latter. Two fat tears rolled down Lizzie's cheeks, her lower lip quivering out of pure confusion and sadness.

"The…the only thing I could think of that m-makes me f-feel better when I-I'm sick is…is P-Pretzel…" she squeezed her bear tighter.

"And?"

"D-do you th-think Holly would w-want to…to…"

Marshall was still a little bit lost, but something was clicking in the back of his mind, "To what?"

"Sh-should she keep Pretzel?"

And to Marshall's utter astonishment, she relinquished her grip on the stuffed animal and held it out, the most painful olive branch she could bestow. He was truly stunned, beneath being so gravely moved. His little girl getting the notion that she had to give up one of her own toys – not to mention her very favorite – just for Holly was extraordinary. More unprecedented was the fact that she was willing to do it, no matter what sort of torment it caused her. This explained the weepiness.

Staring into her beautiful, tear-tracked face, Marshall couldn't fight voicing just how touched he was, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh…Lizzie…" shaking his head. "Pretzel is yours, you keep him, okay?"

"Are you sure?" but she was daring to hope.

"Yes, absolutely," he promised. "Pretzel might make Holly feel better for awhile, but she would _not_ want you to be sad and missing him. He's your sleeping buddy," the man couldn't fathom the sort of nightmares they'd have on their hands without the bear. He had to know, "What made you think that Pretzel was who Holly needed?"

Lizzie shrugged, but calmed significantly upon hearing she would not be asked to surrender her best toy.

"'Cause mama told me once that when her and Aunt Brandi were little that she gave Aunt Brandi a special bear to keep the monsters away – a bear from her daddy."

"That is true," Marshall confirmed.

"I just thought…mama _always_ knows how to make everything better. I thought if I did what mama did…" a pause, and then the free-of-fault five-year-old conclusion. "Then Holly would be all better."

Marshall couldn't be entirely sure where Lizzie had connected these dots, but mention of Biscuit – long gone though he was – made him glance to the sleeved photos still posted on the mint bedroom wall. Several had been replaced with shots of the twins growing up, even cut-outs from Ben's superhero comics, but a few of the originals remained from before the twins had been born, including one of young Mary and her father. When Marshall looked close enough, he saw James in his children's faces; the softness and carefree attributes.

And he couldn't help wondering, even as so many years had passed, if Brandi's inability to settle down still came from an ingrained gene to run. Whatever he was thinking though, Lizzie was going to provide a surefire way to make him smile.

"I just wanted to do what mama would do. 'Cause mama's never wrong. Mama knows _everything_."

XXX

**A/N: I don't know what it is about me and "R" names. I don't really have an affinity for them, but it occurred to me after I named Rachel that I invented two other characters in this series – forgettable ones, granted – also with "R" names, which would be Rebecca and Robbie (Mark's fiancée and step-son, briefly mentioned in "Twin Tailspins"). Anyway, I figured it was time for Peter's sister to make an appearance since she was mentioned a few times on the show, but never seen. She's supposed to rub you the wrong way a little bit, but I hope you'll hold out on her!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I'm sure it must seem like I'm dragging out this thing with Brandi – but, it is the main plot and it's kind of a long story so I have to take my time with some of it LOL! I hope waiting won't drive you off!**

XXX

It was a more mundane morning at the hospital than Mary had anticipated, and by lunchtime she was starting to wish that she'd been the one to stay home with Ben and Lizzie, because she was becoming antsy. The arrival of Aunt Rachel meant that Mary took it upon herself to stay sequestered in the waiting room with Jinx so that Peter, his sister, and Holly could have some time to themselves. Brandi had been there when Mary had arrived, but had then ventured off to the cafeteria alone and not returned.

Mary was not the most patient person in the world; she liked to be where the action was, and sitting immobile in the waiting room wasn't getting anything done. She couldn't be of any help or comfort to Peter – not to mention Brandi – if she couldn't be with them. Commiserating with Jinx hardly seemed like the next best option, but that was where they had landed. With the daughter sprawled on the couch and Jinx idly completing a child's crossword puzzle in one of the 'Highlights' they were quite a pair.

Unfortunately, all the unexpected free time on her hands gave Mary far too many reasons to brood – mostly about Brandi. Although Jinx had reported that she'd stayed up all night with Holly, it still seemed odd to Mary that she would just vanish as soon as visitors showed up and not tell anyone why or where she was headed. With this on her mind, arms folded under her head, the elder sister was finally goaded into speech.

"Mom, where the hell is Brandi?" she felt like she'd asked this a lot in just a few days. "She went down to the cafeteria an hour ago and hasn't been back up."

"Maybe they were busy…" Jinx muttered absently, her pencil scratching in the magazine. "Or maybe she got caught talking to someone."

"Someone who?" Mary rebutted. "What are the odds of her running into someone she knows? You're reaching."

"Reaching for what, honey?" still, she did not look up.

"You are full of excuses when it comes to Brandi," Mary sniped, elbowing upward a little further. "Seriously. How many more times does she have to abandon her kid for you to realize she's irresponsible?"

She'd been tetchy on purpose, because she was annoyed that Jinx wouldn't give her the time of day, and it worked. Her mother paused, writing utensil still in hand, and fixed Mary with a cold, calculating look from her place in the chair.

"That isn't fair, Mary," she insisted. "Brandi is not as confident as you; she is always worrying she's not a good enough mother to Holly…"

"Confidence has nothing to do with it!" the blonde shot back. "All she has to do is _be there_ and she's blowing it!"

"You stop," Jinx scolded, wagging her finger as Mary jumped up all the way, tucking her legs underneath her. "It's that attitude that will shatter her self-esteem, and she doesn't need that. Just because she's not with Holly every second doesn't mean…"

"Mom, she's gone for _hours_ at a time and if she wants her space, that's one thing. But she's hiding something, and the fact that she thinks whatever it is needs to be done while Holly is fighting for her life is ridiculous!"

"Mary…" now the dancer closed the book and tossed it back to the littered coffee table, sighing and blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "I have no idea what you think she's hiding, other than whatever's going on with her and Peter, and that's none of our business. Marital problems are between a husband and wife."

But, this was where she faltered. Though she attempted to sound casual, even convinced that Brandi's cloak and dagger routine was innocent, the act didn't entirely come through. Mary knew that Jinx had been dying to find out what those 'martial problems' were for weeks now, not to mention whatever was making Brandi so touchy when Peter tried to confront her. Then there was the mysterious phone call from the day before, which Mary had shared with no one but Marshall.

"I guarantee that Brandi is doing something stupid," Mary declared bluntly, pointing an unyielding finger in Jinx's face. "And she is not putting it on the backburner for Holly's sake."

"Well, not all couples are so selfless…" Jinx rationalized with a hasty roll of her eyes. "I am certain that if something like this had happened to one of you girls, your father and I would've been at each other's throats twenty-four-seven."

Being expected to accept this response didn't go over well with Mary. No matter how contentious the relationship, when the kids were involved, you put it aside. There was no other way to go about it as far as she was concerned, and she admired Peter for doing his best, but Brandi hadn't given him any slack at all.

"I don't get you…" Mary gave an untimely huff, folding her arms over her middle in a defensive position. "You'd never fall all over yourself to make excuses like this for me."

Jinx shook her head, "What makes you think you'd need the excuses, sweetheart?" a tiny, tired sigh escaped. "You may think I'm as oblivious as the day is long, but I am trying to let Brandi live her own life her own way. Perhaps the excuses for her behavior is my way of supporting her." She shrugged, "You're always going to do the right thing, so you don't need me to stand up for you."

It took Mary a moment to wade through this twisted logic, narrowing her eyebrows as she did so. She supposed, in Jinx's world, that this fit together, but she still thought what Brandi needed was a good thrashing, not a bunch of mollycoddling.

"Anyway, whatever Brandi's up to, it isn't important in the grand scheme of things," Jinx pressed on. "What's important now is Holly. The doctors were saying earlier that she'll be here for at least a week, maybe even longer to mend her poor leg."

"How are they gonna do that?" Mary leaned her chin in her hand to listen, taking the bait to deflect from the subject of her wayward sister. "Did they say? I don't understand how they can just leave it broken like it is until they're ready to do surgery…"

"I'm not sure I understand either," Jinx conceded. "But, I guess they sort of 'set' the leg already," her nails formed air quotes as she said this. "And she has either a cast or a splint. When they do the surgery, they'll have to insert a rod down the center of the bone to hold it in place until it heals."

Not having anticipated this at all, the inspector's eyes widened, stunned to think that petite Holly would have to have a giant piece of metal gouged under her skin. She'd had no idea the break was that serious, not if they were able to keep the bone stable until she was well enough to be operated on.

"Seriously?" the younger remarked. "Jesus. How on earth is she holding up now if she needs something that intensive?"

"I gather it's making the doctors nervous," Jinx admitted. "Whispers tell me that they don't like trying to keep the bone secure with a cast and pain medication – they want to get in there as soon as they can."

Mary gave a low whistle, shaking her head as she digested the details. True, she'd had it far worse when she'd been shot all those years ago; the follow-up surgeries to repair her wounds had seemed endless, but she'd been thirty-eight years old. Holly wasn't even three yet; to be expected to deal at such a young age was asking quite a lot. She thought of her own children, knowing Ben would be afraid but attempt to take it in stride. Lizzie would be having conniptions.

All this information made Mary want to see Holly in the flesh, to assess for herself how she was faring. Rachel had been back there all morning; wasn't it time for another to have their turn?

Glancing over her shoulder, "You suppose Peter would mind if I joined them?" Mary presented to her mother, thinking it was most unusual of her to inquire for permission. "What do you suppose Rachel's been doing all this time?"

Jinx snorted, "That woman."

It wasn't often Mary and Jinx saw eye-to-eye on something, but it seemed they might have found common ground. Mary took pause for a moment, weighing her options while Jinx fiddled with the chain around her neck, and then prodded her forward.

"Not a fan, mom? I didn't know you'd met her."

"Well, I haven't _really_…" Jinx emphasized dramatically. "But, I've picked up on a few things since the wedding. She doesn't like Brandi."

"Big surprise," Mary grumbled, but this time she was willing to cut her little sister a break. "Let me guess. Not good enough for Peter?"

"Mmm hmm…" the other woman hummed darkly. "If you ask me, I don't know what she thinks she's doing pretending she's some fun-loving aunt that Holly adores. Holly barely knows her; it's you and Marshall – you're her aunt and uncle."

Mary chuckled, thinking back to Lizzie's initial perplexity about multiple aunts and uncles. It seemed her and Jinx were on the same wavelength, however unintentionally. She was going to assume that her mother found it perfectly acceptable for her waltz right in on Peter and his sister, privacy be damned, but the sound of her phone buzzing in her back pocket prevented her from asking again.

"Hang on, mom…" Mary segued as she maneuvered the phone out, flipping it around so she could see the name on the display.

Expecting Marshall, she was caught off guard to find a different moniker blinking back at her from the little lighted screen. Nonetheless, that title produced one of the first real smiles she'd allowed to wiggle forth since Friday night. She didn't know what it was, but the man never failed to bring her spirits up.

"Hey Seth."

"Hey there, doll…" traditional as ever; gruff, but loveable. "How you doing?"

"Oh…okay…" Mary wasn't sure if he knew of the situation they were currently entrenched in, and decided it could wait a few minutes. "How are you? How's Laura?"

"All fine, all fine…" Seth relayed smoothly. "The boys – Travis and Carson – came up on Friday to spend a few days before the holidays, since Laura and I will be flying out your way by the end of the next week."

Oh, shit. If Jinx hadn't been sitting right there, Mary would've hit herself in the forehead out of pure frustration. How in God's name had she forgotten that Seth and Laura were coming for Christmas? It was the first year they'd be joining her and Marshall in Albuquerque.

They hadn't done anything for the twins' first Christmas, as they'd only been four months old at the time and Lizzie had still been having respiratory problems from being born six weeks early. Their second year had been much the same only without the illness, and the third had been impeded by the arrival of Holly. In the last two years, they'd ventured forth to Montana to stay with Marshall's parents and to give Ben and Lizzie time with 'Nana' and 'Papa Seth' but this was to be the kick-off for the Manns initial Christmas in New Mexico.

In spite of her blunder, Mary absolutely didn't want to cancel. Seth and Laura had planned on staying in a hotel, but still. In light of Holly's troubles, she wasn't sure her and Marshall would be the best hosts.

"Mary?" Seth prodded when she failed to be excited about his upcoming appearance. "You still there?"

She hurried to cover, "Yes, I…" but, shaking her head, she wasn't sure how to go on. "I guess, um…your visit kind of snuck up on me. I didn't realize the twenty-first was as early as next Friday."

This caught Jinx's attention, eyes flicking upward from where she'd returned to her crossword, however juvenile. Mary could only guess that she too had forgotten their Montana arrivals.

"Did something come up?" Seth wondered, sounding brusque as well as skeptical, like nobody could keep him from showing up regardless of the state of affairs. "Because few things can keep me from my little soldiers, I will tell you that up front…"

"No-no…" Mary insisted a little too quickly. "No, Marshall and I were really looking forward to seeing you…"

"Were?" Seth picked up on it; Mary had known the second the past-tense phrase was out of her mouth that it was a mistake.

"We still are, of course we still are," she tried to illuminate what she was getting at, but was annoyed with herself that she could not sound more coherent. "Something has come up, actually…" she accepted her defeat. "But, it's no reason for you and Laura not to come, honestly."

"Well, what's going on?"

"Um…" Mary sighed, knowing that Seth would be sympathetic, but she didn't often get to view that side of him; for some reason, it made her nervous when she didn't know what to expect. "My little niece, Holly…" a swallow. "My sister Brandi's daughter, she's in the hospital with bacterial meningitis and a fractured tibia," it had only been two days and already Mary was tired of recounting the events.

There was a distinct gap as soon as she was done, making her more agitated as she lay in wait for Seth's response. It was foolish to think that Seth wouldn't understand or would be disdainful of sickness; he was a very fine gentleman, not some ogre. But again, the unknown was what made Mary anxious. She began gnawing on her thumbnail, something she often did when she was jittery.

"How the hell did she manage to get sick and injure herself at the same time?" he eventually marveled, an air of awe in his tone. "That's a talent if ever I saw one."

The sarcasm put Mary at ease, "Tell me," she scoffed. "I wasn't there when she fell, but she lost her balance off the bunk bed ladder in her bedroom – probably didn't have all her wits about her, feeling so crappy and everything."

"Ah, I see…" Seth breathed. "Well, that's quite a conundrum you've got going on out there, doll. Is she gonna pull through?"

"Looks that way," Mary was thankful she could give this response and have it be truthful. "But, still not doing very well. I haven't seen her yet today. Peter – Brandi's husband – his sister showed up this morning so Jinx and I have been letting them enjoy their little reunion."

"Sounds like a full house," he remarked. "How are Private Benjamin and Major Elizabeth doing with it?"

It was a tough fight not to chortle too heartily at Seth's cheesy marine names for his grandchildren; few people were cornier, except perhaps Marshall.

"Ben's good; he just goes with the flow. Lizzie's a little shaken up, but Marshall's got her covered."

"As to be expected," Seth declared, used to the kids and their eccentricities. "Well, if you and my boy don't want to add to the tailspin, I suppose Laura and I could postpone our excursion…"

"No," she said at once, not wanting him to feel like a burden at all. "No. I mean, we can play it by ear, but I'm sure Holly will be fine by then."

"If you're sure," Seth restated. "Talk it over with Marshall though, and see what he thinks."

"Okay…" Mary agreed, knowing this was the best course of action. "All right. We'll get back to you."

It was a good thing that Mary had wrapped up their chat on a note of finality, because just as she glanced up she saw Rachel and Peter emerge from behind the double doors that separated the waiting area from the rooms. One quick glance told her that Peter looked awful – worse than yesterday, although it was unrealistic to expect him to have improved. She wasn't even sure he'd changed clothes; he'd been wearing that dingy grey jacket since him and Brandi's arrival on Friday night.

"Hey…Seth…" she tried to focus for a moment, so as not to blow him off. "You mind if I call you back a little later? We might have some news on Holly…"

"No problem," he assured her kindly. "Give your sister my best, all right?"

Mary would've been happy to, had she known where Brandi had gotten to, but there was no sense saddling Seth with that can of worms.

"Yeah, I will. Thanks."

She hung up before he could say goodbye, jamming her phone back into her pocket and standing to join Jinx, who had already risen to her feet. Although Mary had believed when Rachel and Peter had first walked out that something had gone awry, now her instincts were telling her something different. It looked like Peter was being dragged to the waiting quarters against his will, for Rachel had a tight grip on his forearm and took care of the talking right off the bat.

"I'm gonna take Peter out for a bit," Rachel announced boldly. "Give him a little bit of a break…"

Not accustomed to being spoken for, the man pitched in, "Mary, do you think you could stay with Holly?" why he wasn't asking Jinx was a mystery, but not to be dwelled upon. "She's had a rough morning, and I'm getting a little bit edgy; I think my nervous energy is rubbing off on her…"

"I…that's fine…" Mary stuttered, but only a small portion of his consensus floated into her brain. "What do you mean by 'rough'? What's the problem?"

"She hasn't gotten worse, has she?" Jinx interjected, twisting her hands in front of her torso and looking disconcerted.

"Not really worse…" Peter shook his head, speaking before Rachel could pounce. "She's had an upset stomach; they don't think it's the meningitis, just a side effect of the antibiotics. She's been throwing up since ten thirty…"

Between the dejected quality of her brother-in-law's voice and the tears brimming in his eyes, Mary couldn't shut herself up.

"Isn't that around the time Brandi left?"

Rachel, for one, gave what almost looked like a grimace at this being brought to light, but it seemed few things could really sadden Peter anymore than he already was. He just shook himself free of his sister's iron hold and ran a finger under his nose.

"I…I don't know what time that was. I lost track. But, Jinx, if you wouldn't mind giving her a call and seeing if we can get her back…?"

The brunette nodded vigorously, "Of course, dear. You take all the time you need. We'll get Brandi."

"I'll hang out with Holly," Mary reinforced. "And let you know if anything changes."

"Yeah…thanks…" he murmured, clearly without any stamina to give more instructions, or even to fight when it came to Brandi's conspicuous absence.

Mary could not say the same for herself, and if Brandi did show up in the not-so-distant future, it would be smart of her to steer clear of her big sister. The notion that she had ditched her daughter just when it was getting difficult was too much to bear. What in the world was wrong with her? In spite of Brandi's inadequacies in being dependable when it came to Holly, Mary had never really doubted she loved the little girl. What was she supposed to think now?

"We're just gonna go for a walk, maybe get something to eat…" Rachel informed them both. "I'll grab the elevator…"

Blissfully, her journey to the buttons gave Mary a second alone with Peter while Jinx set to work dialing her cell. What the blonde planned on saying in their two seconds by themselves, she wasn't sure, but there had to be something. Anything.

"Listen…Peter…" she began, trying to think fast. "I…I'm really…" apologizing on Brandi's behalf wasn't her idea of comfort, but it was all she could come up with. "I'm sorry about Brandi; I don't know what's gotten into her…"

"Well, I'm sorry about my own sister," he grumbled, trying to be noble and ignoring Mary's confession. "I know she can be kind of overbearing. She really does have a good heart…"

"You don't need to explain to me, Peter," she insisted. "She's here, which is more than I can say for _my_ sister."

He had nothing to donate to this comment, and Mary couldn't blame him. What else was there to say concerning Brandi's nonattendance? No matter how Jinx babbled, there was no excuse for what she was doing. Holly needed her, and she was far from delivering.

"Stay out as long as you want," she concluded, echoing Jinx's sentiment. "Aunt and Grandma here have it covered, okay?" she even clapped his shoulder for support.

Recognizing a signal from Rachel across the room that the elevator had arrived, Peter gave a weak smile and went on his way, leaving Mary and Jinx behind. The inspector stood dumbly for a moment, knowing she should get moving because Holly was all by herself, but she couldn't help noticing that her mother seemed to be having absolutely no luck reaching Brandi.

Unable to stand the ridiculousness of this, she motioned to Jinx that she was leaving and received only a hurried nod in reciprocation. It was a stocky task to keep herself from fuming as she made her way to see her niece, trying not to peer in at all the other sick children sequestered in their beds, their parents holding vigil. Anger at Brandi aside, Mary had some appreciation for how hard it was to be those mothers whose babies were not well. Although the outcome on the twins could've been much worse, being preemies and all, it was really only Lizzie who had suffered any sort of setbacks, and even those had gone away with time.

There was a single nurse in Holly's room when Mary arrived, the same one from the day before – Shannon. She was taking Holly's temperature with an ear thermometer, and then her pulse in her wrist with two fingers. Holly looked like she was barely awake, her cheeks sunken with flaming patches of red. It was doubtful she had noticed Mary enter.

"Hi…" Shannon whispered, her long brunette waves tied back in a ponytail today. "You're the aunt, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Mary murmured, glad to see that she was friendly. "How's she doing?"

"Oh…pretty worn out," the other woman relayed. "But, hopefully finished throwing up, right Holly?"

She patted her head, but Holly didn't answer. The nurse moved from her post and crossed the room to where Mary was standing, leaving her with only a few directions before departing completely.

"Doctor Banks was here just a little bit ago. Holly still has a pretty high fever, but otherwise she's improving little-by-little. The vomiting has nothing to do with her illness…"

"Yeah," Mary interrupted, but without impatience. "Her dad mentioned."

"Good. Well, we were able to give her a low dosage of something that may help her rest for awhile," Shannon continued. "Not for very long, but she should be tired enough that she'll be able to sleep."

"All right. Thanks," Mary nodded. "Her dad should be back in a bit."

Shannon smiled at this and left the premises, giving Mary the opportunity to ease herself into a hard-looking chair on the door-side of the room. In hindsight, she realized she should've gone to the far side because her current location meant Holly was forced to roll over.

It was a sad sight once she finally managed to get herself turned. With eyes that were glassy and a form that was all-but completely limp, she stared at Mary as if she'd never seen her before in her life. Mary had a sudden flash to that terrifying term – brain damage – and wondered for a brief moment if Holly _didn't_ know who she was. But, she was quick to talk herself off the ledge, thinking surely Peter would've said if anything had gone awry in that area.

And so, she managed a playful grin and scratched her nails through Holly's blonde flyaway boy cut.

"Hey Holly…"

It seemed far too dramatically ironic to tack on the 'jolly' this time.

"I hear you've been hurling your guts out," she went on gruesomely. "Brave girl to deal with that."

Holly moaned; a pitiful, tear-jerking sound, like that of a baby kitten.

"Mommy coming…?" she croaked feebly.

Mary pushed on, refusing to show her exasperation, "Sorry. Just me," holding up her hands, palms out. "Grandma gave her call though, okay?" it was essential to provide her with even a smidgen of optimism.

If possible, Holly's expression darkened further, "I miss mommy."

"I know," Mary relented. "You're not the only one."

But, it wasn't likely that Mary would define what she felt for Brandi as 'missing.' It was more along the lines of, 'get your ass back here or I'll get it back here for you' but it wasn't as though she could say something like that to Holly. As an alternative, she tried to get the little one's mind elsewhere; she could only guess, but she would assume Holly had spent the last few hours wailing to Peter that she wanted mommy, and mommy alone.

"Uncle Marshall's coming by later," she teed up enticingly, knowing Holly much preferred him over her surly self. "I told him he should stop by the gift shop so he can load you up with all sorts of stuff you totally don't need. That'll be pretty cool, huh?"

Faint hope was that she could fool Holly with this business. She knew the sort of things that resided inside hospital gift shops – a few cute stuffed animals, but mostly cheap novelty toys, like the consolation prizes you got at a carnival when you didn't win the big one. Perhaps Holly would be game for silly slider puzzles and paddle balls.

"What kind stuff?" she mused blearily.

Mary shrugged in what she hoped was a comical way, "Guess you'll have to wait and see, Holls," poking her nose, though if she were three and sick she would've hated such a gesture.

Fortuitously, all she did was sigh and cuddle her beloved Chrissie doll closer to her chest, sinking deeper into her pillows.

"In the meantime, though…" the aunt sought to keep going, for even with someone so ill, she didn't like silences. "Is there anything else I can get you? You thirsty? I bet there's water around her somewhere…" she glanced over her shoulder at the sink, wondering if she could steal a cup from a nearby room.

But, Holly blinked slowly, deliberately, almost like she was memorizing every feature of Mary's face, or else thinking very hard. Mary herself was hard-pressed not to wonder how she managed to _think_ at all, given everything else she was going through. Serious Holly might be, but that didn't mean she wasn't determined. Someone had instilled fight in her.

"You tell me story, Aun' Mary?" the request came in less than a whisper, like it was taking every bit of energy she had just to ask.

"Oh…" the woman was a little surprised, though she shouldn't have been. Marshall was generally the storyteller in her house, but that didn't mean she couldn't think on her feet. "Well, I guess…" she had offered whatever she wanted, after all. "What kind of story are you looking for?"

Possibly just as shocking was that Holly had a second appeal, "'Bout me and Christmas?"

Ah. Mary did know that story fairly well. While she would never understand the fascination these girls had with their own births, that didn't mean they weren't good material for theater. Lizzie, too, was very caught up in her and Ben's arrival, as demonstrated by the tale she wanted after nightmares. It was completely believable that Holly had picked up on this attraction from her older cousin, in spite of the fact that her entrance was much less dramatic.

"I think I can live with that," Mary concurred. "Lie down…" reaching around and repositioning her pillows, pleased to see Holly snuggle even deeper. "I'll see what I can come up with."

Once she was certain that Holly was relaxed – or as relaxed as she was going to get – Mary wound her arm around her head, leaning her temple next to hers. She wanted her to feel safe and secure, even if sleep didn't come right away.

"Well…almost three years ago now…" hard to believe it had been that long. "Your mom and dad, me and Uncle Marshall, Ben and Lizzie, and Grandma were having Christmas dinner…" Mary began to stroke Holly's hair again, this time without even thinking about it. "The plan was to have Christmas dinner _on_ Christmas, and then celebrate the last night of Hanukah the next day…"

"Daddy's holiday…" Holly slurred unexpectedly from under Mary's elbow.

"Yes, that's daddy's holiday," Mary chuckled at Holly viewing Peter's Judaism as such. "But, he and your mom didn't end up getting to do that. You know why?"

Of course she knew why, "'Cause of me."

"Because you, Miss Jolly Holly, could not wait to show up. Interrupted our turkey dinner and everything. Uncle Marshall will tell you that I was pretty darn annoyed I didn't get to finish my mashed potatoes."

If Mary looked close enough, she thought she could spot a sliver of a smile on her niece's drained face. It only spurred her to keep right on going.

"So, there we are, crammed in for Christmas dinner, Ben and Lizzie in their high chairs – Ben chucking his food at all corners of the room – when your mom says…" she waited, because even though she wanted Holly to surrender to dreamland, part of her wanted to ensure that she was comfortable first. "What'd she say?"

And this child had heard the story enough times, "Baby's coming…" Holly drawled, lids fluttering shut.

"That's right," Mary praised. "She stands right up and shouts for practically everyone to hear, 'The baby's coming!' And your dad about passed out; Uncle Marshall had to tell him to get a grip on himself," she added as an afterthought.

Recounting it for Holly helped Mary to see it all one more time in her mind's eye. She'd been nervous throughout Brandi's entire pregnancy, though it was nothing to how she'd felt during her own. Nonetheless, the accountability entrusted to those who bore children was enormous, and Mary had never been certain Brandi could handle it.

So, when her and Peter had showed up for the holiday feast, she had immediately been wary of her sister threatening to pop. Holly had been almost a week late, a far cry from the twins, and she'd suspected all through Jinx's cooking that something was up with Brandi. The way she'd held herself so stiffly, the way she'd neglected to speak to anyone and had stayed close to Peter the entire time; all of it screamed, 'baby on the way.' But, not until her water had broken right in the middle of the meal had the older sister's qualms been confirmed.

Swiftly, she got back to Holly, "Your mom was pretty worried, because she thought the hospitals would be really full because of the holidays," even now, Mary didn't understand this logic, but the smallest things seemed treacherous in those laborious moments. "But, your dad and Uncle Marshall and I told her everything was going to be okay – Uncle Marshall was all worked up because you'd be a Christmas baby."

"…I Christmas baby…"

"That's you," and now Mary dropped her voice, letting the way she raked her fingers through that beautiful towhead blonde do most of the talking. "Our friend Stan came over and stayed home with Ben and Lizzie, and Grandma, Uncle Marshall, and I went with your mom to the hospital. Grandma, in particular, was very-very excited."

'Excited' really was an understatement. Jinx had been ecstatic. So had Peter, in his own stressed-out way. Marshall, who adored children of any kind, behaved as over the moon as anybody, Mary with her own quiet exhilaration thrumming beneath her doubts.

But, it was Brandi's face that kept popping into her brain. The fear had been almost tangible, but there'd also been a kind of willpower there, resolve to muddle through no matter how hard it might be. Brandi had been wonderful with Ben and Lizzie in their early years, doting as any decent aunt would. She'd forever claimed to want children of her own – more than one, in fact. And yet, the weight of it all had seemed to crash very heavily after the initial thrill. Had she not honestly realized how much work and sacrifice came from being parent, even with the joys along the way?

Mary didn't know, but she was itching to find out, even if now wasn't the time.

"And we waited all night long for you to show your face…" she muttered softly, noticing that the sedate up-down pattern of Holly's chest had fallen into a more natural rhythm. "But, by the time you started crying it was almost five in the morning and it wasn't Christmas anymore…"

When Holly didn't chime in for this part of the story, Mary knew she was nearly asleep.

"But, your mom said, 'my little girl is special…'"

All moms thought that, but in that post-birth-euphoria, Brandi had really seemed to mean it.

"And she said, 'I never ever want to forget the best Christmas I ever had…'"

Looking down into her niece's weakened, beaten features, Mary figuratively scratched her head at what had happened, how Brandi _could've_ overlooked just how rewarding being a mom really was.

"And when I asked her how she planned on making you sound so special, she told me that no other baby girl was going to have a name as _jolly_ as yours."

She prayed, internally, that Holly would find that jolly someday soon.

"'Holly Noel,' she shared with me. 'My perfect Christmas baby – my extraordinary girl.'"

And it suddenly dawned on Mary why this specific tale was so near and dear to young Holly's heart, even as the whistle sounded through her nose, indicating rest at last. For as much as Brandi had been missing lately, Holly was clinging to the one time in her life when she had been the most important, number one thing on her mommy's mind.

XXX

**A/N: I admit it is somewhat ironic that I had Holly throwing up in this chapter (even though we didn't see it,) because, while I seem to write a lot of people getting sick (mostly Mary throwing up while pregnant,) I don't have a ton of experience with it. Imagine my surprise today when one of my students for the day (I am a substitute teacher,) threw up her whole lunch in the trashcan. Poor thing! I hope I was as calm as I write Mary to be. ;) **


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I appreciate anyone who is still reading, even if you don't have the time to leave a review! I understand that life gets busy (I also don't mean to assume that everyone is reading – honestly, I am flattered if anybody takes the time)! Anyway, enough nonsense out of me…**

XXX

Following their second afternoon of 'hurry up and wait' Mary found herself at home with Marshall and the kids, both of them having spent their fair share of time in Holly's room waiting for Brandi. Whether or not she was ever reached was unclear, and as Holly had slept for several hours, Mary supposed it didn't really matter. She was simply glad to be in her own house with her own very healthy children, although she didn't savor what was coming.

After only a minimal amount of deliberation, Mary and Marshall had decided to have Ben and Lizzie be given the meningitis vaccine. Although it wasn't very likely either of them would contract it on this go-around – they'd have known already – nobody could be sure, and it would give them armor for the future. After seeing what Holly was enduring, Mary didn't want to take any chances that the twins could fall prey. It was telling the pair of them they were getting shots come Monday morning that she dreaded.

However, their after-dinner discussion was delayed by the arrival of AWOL Brandi herself at their front door. Marshall was the one who answered the rapping knock, feeling thrown for the second time that day after Rachel's impromptu version of showing up. If possible, he was even more unnerved to see his sister-in-law, just because he was under the assumption she'd taken up her station at Holly's bedside once more.

"Brandi…" he exhaled, both of their breaths creating clouds in the frosty winter air where twilight was falling fast. "Hey. What are you doing here? Come in…" he stepped aside so she could walk over the threshold before waiting for a reply to his question.

"Thanks Marshall…" she murmured timidly, rubbing her arms for warmth. "Holly went back to sleep, so I left mom in charge for a bit; Peter and Rachel were having dinner in the hospital cafeteria."

"Have you had dinner?" the taller proposed, observing once again that she seemed to be skin and bones beneath her heavy coat and sweater. "Mary and I made beef stew and there's plenty left over. You know Ben; he's picky and won't touch anything with peas."

"I…I think I'm good…" she nodded. "Is…is Mary here…?"

She sounded to Marshall like she hoped not, with the way she was staring around rather stealthily. Granted, it was hard to view the rest of the house from the vestibule, and Mary was still in the kitchen – last Marshall had seen, she was playing checkers with the kids, her and Lizzie as a tag-team against Ben.

"She's just through here…" Marshall jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "What brings you by? Did you need some more company down at the hospital? I don't mind going back…"

Before Brandi could touch upon his generous bid, the attention was caught of the two little ones in the house. Marshall heard the sound of scraping stools and pounding socked feet, hoping neither his son nor daughter slipped and fell on the hardwood. The way they turned on the charm for guests with whom they were familiar was always amusing; you'd think they really were the perfect angels Delia had claimed them to be.

"Auntie Brandi!" Lizzie got there first, skidding to a halt right next to her father. "I haven't seen you in forever and ever! Did Holly come with you?"

Brandi's face fell immediately, like blinds over a window. Marshall scrambled to cloak Lizzie's gaffe as fast as he could.

"No…Lizzie…you remember that Holly will have to stay in the hospital for a little while?" he drew her back to the evening prior. "We talked about that last night." To Brandi, "Sorry, she just forgot…"

"No…no…" the woman managed somewhat stoically. "It's okay," but Marshall saw her swallow heavily. "Hi baby…" hitching a smile into place, she held out her arms. "Give auntie a hug…"

Lizzie abided in kind, Brandi wrapping her up briefly, her tiny body getting lost in the grieving one's arms. True, Holly wasn't dying anymore, but a bereaved parent was exactly who Marshall was reminded of when he looked at his sister-in-law.

"Where's your brother?" the blonde queried once she'd let Lizzie loose, peering over her head.

Astonished Ben hadn't made his appearance before now, Marshall saw him fly through the living room, nearly toppling right over onto Lizzie when he tried to put on the breaks.

"Slow down, spark…" his dad chastised.

"Aunt Brandi!" he puffed, completely disregarding the directions. "Guess what? Delia got me a Green Lantern shirt and so now if I get the power ring I'll have _everything_ I need to control the world!"

"Wow…" she mused somewhat dispiritedly. "Well, maybe you'll get that ring for Christmas."

"The ring and my two-wheeler bike! Santa needs to bring me _both_!"

"We're going to be grateful for _whatever_ Santa brings…" Marshall chimed in with a rough pat on Ben's shoulder. "Big or small," feeding Brandi a sheepish grin.

"I want a big play kitchen, like the one I saw in the store where mama buys Ben all his superhero toys!" Lizzie piped up, the mention of Christmas riling her as well. "And with lots of play food and dishes and a chef's hat!"

"That's quite a gift…" the aunt remarked. "I bet Holly would love something like that too."

"She can play with mine!" Lizzie declared robustly. "If Santa brings it."

"Isn't that nice?" Marshall placed his hand on Lizzie's head, proud of her for wanting to share, but deciding not to mention the fact that she'd been waging an internal battle with whether or not to give up Pretzel for her little cousin.

"I think Santa needs to get Beatrix something too!" Ben butted right back in just as Marshall heard the sound of Mary's heavier footfalls joining them, plus the pattering of the cat on the rug. "She doesn't even have a stocking!"

"Maybe Grandma can make her one," Marshall put forward, knowing that Jinx had taken up her share of knitting and sewing since becoming a grandmother. "We can fill it with yarn and balls she can chase."

"For my attack cat!" with a flourish, Ben flung himself to the ground and seized the beast around her middle.

As she always did when in the hands of Ben, Beatrix squalled piercingly, flailing all four of her sharp claws in an attempt to free herself from his clutches. Nevertheless, he was completely undeterred by slashes, and tried to shimmy the animal up his chest, which only made Beatrix yowl even louder.

It was this acute noise that broke Mary's silence; Marshall knew she'd been lurking near the coffee table once she'd spotted Brandi, debating the best way to punish her with the kids around.

"Ben, put her down!" his mother barked harshly.

Whether he intended to release her or not was immaterial, for Beatrix had finally squirmed free, streaking across the floor where she promptly began licking her paws.

"I keep telling you to be gentle…" Mary stomped over to her son, looking him straight in his beautiful, would-be-naive eyes. "You can't just throw her around; Beatrix is not a doll."

The cat in question had sought refuge behind Lizzie's legs. Marshall couldn't help feeling a tad sorry for Ben as Beatrix wound herself around the girl's ankles, perfectly content. The man knew he didn't intend to harm her, but to him she was a plaything, not a living, breathing being that did not enjoy being tossed about the room. Beatrix had always been partial to Lizzie, because of the very reason Mary had said – she was gentler.

"Okay-okay…" Ben lamented, but he was still eying the kitty with a manipulative look. "Can Aunt Brandi come play checkers with us? She can be on my team."

Marshall had almost forgotten that Brandi was still with them, although Mary certainly hadn't. She was definitely sizing her sister up, and he knew that checkers or other board games were not in their near future. He recalled Brandi acting as though she hadn't wanted Mary around when she'd shown up, and Marshall was gripped with a sudden inspiration, even if he knew that his wife would not approve.

"Why don't you and Lizzie take the board – _carefully_ take the board – and carry it back to your bedroom? Mom will finish the game in just a minute."

Not all together surprised to see Mary open her mouth to protest, Marshall stared her down with his signature US Marshal steeliness and she kept quiet, though very hesitantly. His reward was to see her cross her arms over her chest, knowing he was going to try and pry pieces of information out of Brandi one-by-one before Mary could get a crack at her – if she could get a crack at her.

"Can't Aunt Brandi play?" Lizzie whined.

Fortunately, Brandi herself came to the rescue this time, "I'm sorry Lizzie, honey…I really can't stay that long; I just came to talk to your daddy for a second," proof that she definitely sought to avoid Mary and had picked up on Marshall's methods. "But, we'll play again soon, all right?"

Pouting, but reconciled, Lizzie shuffled off to the kitchen with Ben following behind her. Mary stayed where she was only for a moment, not at all endeared to Marshall's plan, but she supposed if it gave her some insight on Brandi that it might be worth it. He was far more tactful than she was; it was highly plausible he could get more out of her with a little refinement.

"What are you doing here, Squish?" Mary prompted before she was released to the children, hearing them argue off in the kitchen about how best to transfer the checkers game without losing the pieces. "Holly's been asking for you all day; I don't get it…"

"Mare, she's asleep," the younger insisted jadedly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "I'm going back in just a little bit; I only had a question for Marshall."

"What kind of question?" Mary demanded.

"Just a…a work…a finance – money – question," Brandi fumbled inarticulately. "It…it's nothing."

There was no way in hell it was 'nothing' but Mary accepted her assignment, not without shooting Marshall a dark look, before she accompanied the twins back to their room. She could content herself with the knowledge that Marshall would confide everything in her after the fact anyway.

Once he was confident that Mary had shut herself away with Ben and Lizzie, Marshall led Brandi over to the couch, still wishing that she'd taken up his offer for sustenance. The more he studied her, the more he realized that she could not be at all well. A few more days and Peter would be in the same shape, which didn't bode well for Holly.

"So Brandi…" he instigated smoothly, watching his sister-in-law settle herself awkwardly on the sofa cushions. "What can I do for you? I should warn you that even though Mary isn't here now, that won't keep me from telling her whatever it is that we discuss, so…"

"I-I-I…it's not that I mind Mary knowing," Brandi scored his speech right in half. "I just…I didn't want to have to explain with her around because she just…" shaking her head. "She gives me the third degree and I get all tongue-tied, and…"

"Never mind then," Marshall held up his hand and dropped down next to her. "I believe I understand now. So, what's on your mind? If it's anything Mary and I can help with so that you can spend more time with Holly, we're happy to pitch in."

A leaky smile eked out at this and Brandi placed her hand on Marshall's knee, trusting this man to do right by her, whatever Mary's opinions.

"It really…it doesn't have a whole lot to do with…my time…" she started to say, not removing her fingers from Marshall's leg. "I mean, I know I've been a little helter-skelter lately, but I mean that…that's just…because I don't like seeing Holly the way she is…"

To Marshall, this sounded like a shabby excuse; he could tell by the way Brandi rambled that there was more to her drought than being pained by Holly's condition, but he wasn't going to push that. She might be lying about it, but he'd never uncover even a smidgen of truth if he drove her too far forward.

"No, it's more about…why Peter and I have been…kind of at odds lately."

Wholly intrigued, Marshall attempted not to let his eagerness show in any way. While he severely doubted that he was going to gain total honesty from this woman, some was better than none.

"Well, I'm all ears," he asserted boldly, hoping to get things rolling.

Brandi swallowed hard, her eyes straying distinctly to the closed bedroom door down the hall. Marshall imagined she was picturing how Mary would react to whatever this news was, as they'd all been wondering for months where Peter's and Brandi's problems had stemmed from. But, somewhat bolstered by the fact that her big sister wasn't around to judge, she opted to get on with her story.

"A month or two ago…I'm not sure how long…I guess it was around October…" she started slowly. "Peter and I found out that one of his employees from the Autoplex was using his status at the dealership to embezzle money."

Marshall raised his eyebrows, "Oh?"

"Yeah…" Brandi verified. "The police still don't know which employee it was." All of sudden, she switched gears; "It wasn't me, Marshall! Honest! And it wasn't even like that time a few years ago when that guy got my computer password and they stole those cars from the back gate – it has nothing to do with me."

Marshall bought this and nudged her along, "Of course it wasn't you."

"Well, the dealership lost a ton of money because of this guy…" Brandi continued. "And it's been bad for business; I know it wasn't in the news or anything, but word gets around…" a shrug. "It's been really hard on Peter."

"I can't even fathom," Marshall stated sympathetically. "That's enough to strain a marriage, especially when you both work there."

Despite how understanding he sounded, however, Marshall didn't entirely put the connection together. Absolutely, something like embezzlement would be stressful for both Brandi and Peter, but the tension between them had spoke of a different nature. It did not explain why Brandi was being so irritable, even in light of Holly's troubles, and why Peter had seemed so calm – making allowances, once again, for Holly's status. If Brandi's tale was true, the roles ought to have been reversed, with the wife playing caretaker and the husband acting snappy. Something didn't add up.

"You know…we've been trying to work through this…" Brandi prolonged while Marshall silently dissected her account. "I…I even tried to figure out a way to make some money, or at least _get_ some money to dig the Autoplex out of a hole, but Peter didn't like that…"

An alarm went off in the inspector's brain upon hearing this, although the bit about Peter disapproving seemed more like an afterthought to Brandi. However, their battling made a lot more sense if Peter frowned upon Brandi's technique for earning cash. And, for as much as Marshall liked Brandi, he could definitely see her making unwise decisions when it came to scrounging for dollar bills, even if she meant well.

"You mind if I inquire about how you planned on getting money?" he urged delicately. "Bearing in mind that I am a US Marshal."

While he went for a devilish smirk after reminding her of his lawful position, it was also his way of relaying that she needed to watch both whatever she said and did. If she was using illegal methods to build funds, now was the time to end it.

"Oh…it…it's nothing…nothing bad…" Brandi stuttered, but Marshall wasn't fooled. "I'm still looking into it, but I just wanted you to know that that's part of where all this anxiety has been coming from."

"Is there someone who is helping you to earn this money?" he clasped his hands together, making Brandi pull hers off his jeans, reminded forcefully of how he spoke to his witnesses. "Brandi…" dropping his voice significantly. "You don't have to resort to…consorting with strangers…" he made the idea sound beneath her, hoping to bring her spirits up. "…Mary and I, we can loan you whatever you might need."

His self-esteem inducing approach seemed to be abating the blonde's need to keep her motives in the vault. Marshall watched as she appeared to consider her position, contemplating whether it was smart to share more.

"It…it's not strangers I'm working with…" she whispered gutturally. "I promise. Really…it's nothing illegal," she obviously knew what her brother-in-law had been thinking. "Peter's just cautious because he doesn't want to lose anything else. I have it under control. Besides, he'd never take money from you guys anyway."

Dismayed to have his plan thwarted, Marshall still knew when it was essential that he back off. He didn't want to make Brandi mad, after all, and if he and Mary became truly wary, they could always hound Peter. The inspector had the feeling he knew more than Brandi was letting on right now, but she didn't want the nitty-gritty to come from her.

"Well…" still, trying one more time couldn't hurt. "If you weren't looking for economic assistance, how come you decided now was the time to divulge this information to me? Forgive me for saying so, but this stance with you and Peter has been going on for some time; Mary and Jinx and I have all been aware of it."

"Yeah…" Brandi gave a nervous chuckle. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to clear the air."

Marshall didn't think that was it at all. He had the sneaking suspicion that Brandi had come to the door hoping to share much more, but had balked upon remembering the reason she hadn't spoken up in the first place – her sister and brother-in-law had ties to law enforcement, and Mary in particular could be cutthroat when she wanted the truth. If she wasn't ready, she wasn't ready, but Marshall still hoped she'd be able to come clean soon.

"I guess thanks for the heads up then," the taller bestowed. "I imagine you're ready to get back to Holly though, so I don't want to keep you," even if he didn't want to make it sound like he was dying to get rid of her so he could speak to Mary about this new development.

"Yeah…" the woman exhaled loudly, standing and rearranging her coat as well as gathering her purse before heading for the outdoors. "Peter said she really had a hard time earlier; I'm hoping that when she wakes up she'll be feeling a little better."

"It just takes time…" Marshall assured her, escorting her to the hatch. "Give her a few more days; I'm sure she'll be back to her old self."

"If we're lucky," Brandi paused in her march right in front of the knob, looking lost in thought for a moment before finishing her sentence. "I don't know what to think. When I was at the hospital early this morning, the doctors were trying to test some of her brain levels by seeing if she knows the letters of the alphabet and her numbers and stuff…"

Marshall furrowed his brow; Peter hadn't mentioned anything about this.

"And…it was so frustrating, because she only knows some of the letters and numbers anyway – you know, like 'H' and one through ten, but she got all confused…"

"It's a lot to take in all at once," Marshall placated her. "Maybe they tried too soon; there's plenty of time for Holly to bounce back."

"I don't know what I'll do if she doesn't…" the younger's voice went foggy as she shook her head, trying to ward off those negative feelings. "I know that Mary thinks I'm such a screw up when it comes to Holly, but I really do love her Marshall."

Not wanting her to feel worse, he cuffed her shoulder lightly hearing her choke up, turning the knob at the same time to admit her into the cold night air.

"There's no doubt in my mind," he said honestly. "As long as you're doing your best, that's all anyone can ask for."

Fortunately, Brandi didn't entirely pick up on the symbolism of his statement – that her 'best' was much better than she was giving, but he'd stated it very casually, to be taken either way.

With a grin, "Thanks Marshall. I'd better get back. Thanks for the advice."

"Anytime," he swore. "Be careful out there, okay?"

"All right."

With a wave over her shoulder, she was gone, trotting down the front drive to her car. Marshall watched her until she had pulled away, the car's zoom sounding loud amidst the otherwise silent, chilly evening. Certain that Mary would come looking for him after having heard the front door, he didn't waste any time returning to their game of checkers, though he had lost track of how long they'd been talking.

To her credit, Mary had engaged herself with the twins and was not listening with her ear pressed to their door when Marshall returned to them. She was still paired with Lizzie, holding the little girl on her lap on the bottom vertical bunk, Ben bouncing around like an overexcited rabbit at the foot. Beatrix sulked near the ladder, mindful to keep her distance from the energetic boy.

"King me!" Ben crowed after what was evidently a victory, pumping both arms in the air. "I'm gonna kick your guys' butts!"

"Tough guy, huh?" Mary mulled that over, Marshall lounging in the doorway. "But, don't go talking like that at school or your teacher will be out for my head."

"That's mom's way of saying she's an even worse sore winner than you, Bullet," the man announced his presence, much to Lizzie's delight; she sprung up so fast she almost whacked Mary's chin.

"Daddy – Ben's winning real good!" she reported, showing off her five-year-old grammar. "I don't know if mama and me can catch him."

"They _can't_!" Ben stuck his chest way out with pride. "Nobody catches _Bullet_!" and he leapt off the bed and spun on the spot, his coveted red cape whirling in a sheet behind him.

"Brandi leave?" Mary wanted to know while Ben was occupied with his bragging, handing Lizzie extra checkers with which to crown Ben's red pieces.

"Yup, she just wanted my counsel on a little funding situation at the Autoplex – details to follow," he shot her a wink; in spite of knowing that Mary would not react favorably to Brandi's shenanigans, he was itching to test their partner muscles once more. There was an investigation to be had. "You wanna get back to…?"

With a significant glance, he inclined his head to their oblivious children, reminding his wife of their arrangement to lower the boom about the meningitis shots. He could tell by the look on her face that she wasn't looking forward to it, but she was not a mother who sprung things on Ben and Lizzie at the last minute. She was willing to risk the nightmares of Lizzie's that would follow if it meant she was straightforward.

"Let's put the game on hold for a second…" Mary reached around her daughter to remove the board from the mattress, handing it to Marshall to place on the dresser.

A few markers slid to the ground with the transfer, causing Ben to smack his hands to his cheeks and holler histrionically.

"My men!" he bellowed, scrambling to the ground to retrieve them. "Daaaaaad! They were troops in the battle and now you dropped them into the ocean! They'll drown!"

"My mistake, Ben," Marshall apologized, using his real name this time. "You can put them back in just a minute. Mom and I have something we want to talk to you about."

"Like what?" he wondered while Lizzie immediately looked nervous.

"You're about to find out," Marshall assured him. "Come back to the bed. It won't take long."

It took a moment for everyone to get situated, for the bottom bunk of the loft really was not equipped to hold four people, two of them full-grown adults. Mary couldn't scoot all the way under due to the danger of hitting her head, so she and Lizzie ended up somewhat smushed against the wall. Marshall sat at the edge with Ben beside him, hoping his son could sit still long enough to listen.

Once they were properly positioned, it was Mary who got the show underway without preamble, but Marshall couldn't help noticing that she clutched Lizzie a little tighter as she spoke.

"Tomorrow…" her husband admired how matter of fact she could be with just one word. "You two are gonna go to school a little bit late, because dad and I are gonna take you to the doctor."

Lizzie broke in shrilly before her mother could go on, "Is it to make sure we're not sick like Holly?" she predicted.

"I'm not sick!" Ben pronounced with steadfast self-assurance. "I'm a superhero! Superheroes _never_ get sick! We have our powers to protect us!"

"Be that as it may…" Marshall picked up the thread to quiet him down. "Mom and I are still taking you to the doctor. It is not to make sure you're not sick – it's so the doctors can make sure you don't _get_ sick."

With a lot of the same terminology thrown into the same sentence, it wasn't such a wonder that Ben and Lizzie looked a little lost. Even Marshall would've been surprised if they could follow that train of thought, and he hurried to explain.

"There is something the doctors can give you so that you won't get sick like Holly has."

"Like medicine?" Lizzie proposed curiously.

Ben could not be held at bay for long, "Ugh!" he gurgled, shaking his head with his tongue out. "I hate medicine! It tastes yucky!"

"Well…" Marshall conceded they were getting warm. "It is a kind of medicine, but the thing is…"

He stopped, some sort of intuition – the intuition that had known Mary backwards and forwards for upwards of fifteen years – knew that his girl would want to be blamed for the rest. She was the parent that forced her children to face reality; that had never been Marshall's job.

"It's not medicine you swallow," Mary interjected. "You'll both have to get a shot and that's how we'll be sure that you don't end up in the hospital like Holly."

Almost one hundred percent of the time, Ben was the one to speak first. While he'd been Baby B, second-born, second in line, he had always been the leader. But, on this occasion, he looked utterly nonplussed – slightly surprised, but nothing more than that. It was Lizzie who imploded, something Mary really should've foreseen.

"Nooooooooo!" she wailed, tears springing to her eyes so fast it was as though she had an internal faucet. Mary almost couldn't hold onto her because she'd thrashed so violently, but the blonde was there to keep her from smacking her temple on the wall. "Mama, no! No, mama…no…"

And without further ado, she buried her head in Mary's chest and began to cry in earnest – loud, messy, angry, fearful sobs.

"Lizzie, calm down…" Mary beseeched her, patting her back gently. "It's one shot; it takes five seconds and then it'll be over."

"Yeah, it's no big deal," Ben pitched in his two cents for posterity. "It only hurts for a minute and then you get cool superhero band aids!"

Lizzie was far from swayed, her moan muffled inside Mary's shirt, "I don't _want_ superhero band aids!"

"You could get girly ones too, I guess…" Ben shrugged, as always completely used to his sister's frightened nature. "With pink or something," Mary could tell he was fighting making a face of disgust, even from where she viewed him over Lizzie's shoulder.

She was not a girl to be reasoned with, however. Clinging to Mary and bawling to beat the band, you'd think she'd just been sentenced to a fate worse than death. After several seconds of allowing her to wallow, the woman switched to politely firm in order to get her to chill out.

"Liz, hush…" Mary reprimanded, but without heat. "Dad and Ben and I will be there with you, and then you'll be off to school good as new."

Lizzie reemerged at hearing her mother's more disciplinary tone, her cheeks blotchy and tearstained. It was amazing how much of a mess she could become in just five minutes. Blinking excess residue out of her eyes, she turned to her father, as if hoping he might be able to talk Mary out of this outlandish notion.

"Daddy, do I _have_ to?" she begged miserably. "Can't it just be Ben?"

Marshall shook his head, "Afraid not, Lizzie Lou. I know this is hard to understand, but what could happen to you if you _don't_ get this shot is much-much worse than a little needle." He took care to elaborate, "I don't want you to be scared, but Holly is sicker than you know – you don't want to end up where she is. She's had plenty of shots since Friday, and I'm sure she hasn't enjoyed it one bit."

Lizzie's already round eyes turned still rounder, "Really?" she whispered in a wondrous voice.

He bobbed his head slowly, "Really. We need you to be brave like Holly and like mama. Remember what you said to me this morning about mama?"

This definitely peaked Mary's interest. Marshall had made no note of anything Lizzie had uttered early in the day concerning her mother. She would have to meddle to figure it out; she could do that when they discussed Brandi and her never-ending list of issues.

"Yeah…" Lizzie lamented, swiping under her eyelids with her index finger. "Can I take Pretzel with me?"

"_I'll_ protect you!" Ben chirruped in what was his best deep, impressive voice.

"At ease, Bullet," Marshall chuckled. To Lizzie, "Of course you can take Pretzel. Why don't you and Ben go have a look around the living room and see if you can track him down; I don't see him in here."

Dejected but beaten, Lizzie scrambled off the bed and followed her brother, Ben already with his hands over his eyes like a visor. Mary let out a theatrical sigh and flopped backward on Lizzie's pillows once they had vanished. Marshall, feeling just a tad playful, pulled teasingly on one of her feet, towing her upward so she was no longer hiding in the shadows under the bunk.

He was met with a grim smirk, annoyed with his games, and he laid a kiss on her cheek to show his appreciation for her taking care of the vaccine situation.

"Ah…mama…" he droned lethargically. "It's never fun having to crush your children, but you handle it well."

She chortled, settling herself under his chin, "I knew she'd be that way. What's funny though is that I don't even think of her as the drama queen. That title belongs to Ben."

"I know what you mean," Marshall agreed, resting said chin on her hair and patting her shoulder beneath him. "The anticipation is always worse than the event itself. Lizzie will be fine come tomorrow."

Mary couldn't count on this, but was too interested in what had heightened her curiosity minutes before to argue.

"What did she say about me this morning? Whatever it was, it got her to stop crying."

Marshall grinned remembering, "Oh, that. She told me…" as he spoke, he began caressing the same arm he'd been patting, traveling to her shoulder and squeezing lightly; he heard her give a contented purr. "That mama knows _everything_. Mama knew just what to do for Aunt Brandi when she was scared of the monsters – brought in Biscuit, problem solved."

Again, his wife gave a disbelieving chuckle, though she was touched at her daughter's blind faith in her mother. Mention of Brandi took her back to whatever her and Marshall had gone over, and while she was practically twisting and writing for facts on her sister's errant demeanor, she wasn't sure she could take much more tonight.

Marshall's fingers putting her into a bit of a trance, she thought back to how much Biscuit had aided Brandi all those years ago, and then she'd gone and given him away; Mary still didn't know to whom. But mostly, Biscuit made her think of her father. Eyes catching the same photo Marshall had pored over that morning, she saw her own four-year-old toothy grin staring back from James' lap, forty years in the past.

"It was really my dad who brought in Biscuit," she corrected Marshall. Gaze still on the picture, "You ever think the kids look like him?"

She saw it sometimes when she least expected it – the blue of their eyes; yes, it came from Marshall, but there was a sparkling hint of James in their azure shade as well. When they acted silly and lighthearted, like they had not a care in the world – that was part of James as well.

"Sometimes," Marshall conceded. "Mostly Ben, but Lizzie too on occasion."

And Mary had debated since the twins' first fateful days of life whether or not the image of James trailing after her for the rest of her days was haunting or a strange kind of comfort.

XXX

**A/N: So, a few nuggets dropped about Brandi! And vaccines for the twins! I honestly have no idea if getting them vaccinated would be realistic at this point, but I went there anyway for the sake of the drama. Hopefully nobody minds, just like I hope nobody minded my reference to the rod in Holly's leg in the last chapter (which is probably way too dramatic too)!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thanks a ton to my buddy Jayne Leigh for getting caught up on reviews! I just love reading them!**

XXX

If Mary despised hospitals, she certainly had a repugnance for the doctor's office. In some ways, the physician's complex was almost worse; she'd been there far more times, after all, and most of her appointments had been unpleasant. She'd visited countless times while pregnant with the twins, and she'd been jittery and jumpy each and every occasion.

Nonetheless, it was imperative she keep her misgivings to herself, because any nerves she allowed to surface would spill over onto Ben and Lizzie. She wasn't sure, exactly, why she felt so restless. Maybe because it was Monday and she knew she was supposed to be at work, or because the kids would typically be at school. Perhaps because her mind was spinning with everything Marshall had told her about Brandi's financial woes at Alpert's Autoplex, or because she was burning for an update on Holly.

But, the actual culprit was probably the real reason they were visiting the doctor anyway. She hated seeing the twins in pain, whether large or miniscule, elongated or brief. She remembered all too well about a week after they'd been born and her initial ecstasy had abated slightly, she'd completely broke down in tears seeing a nurse take three tries at securing an IV for Lizzie. Her brand new daughter had shrieked like a siren and hadn't let up for several minutes, causing the fresh mother to start sobbing when the professionals wouldn't let her pick her up. Marshall had explained it all away as overactive hormones, but deep down Mary distrusted that theory. It was physically aching to see her children suffering and it was hard to imagine that now, five years down the road, it would be any different.

So, she fidgeted rather agitatedly in her chair in the pediatric waiting room, Marshall flipping idly through a magazine while Ben and Lizzie shared the table of giant Lego blocks. Ben seemed to be building a skyscraper, Lizzie working on a house.

"You okay over there?" Marshall wanted to know, watching his wife unable to keep her seat.

"Fine," she said absently. "Ready for this to be over so I can get to work."

"Don't forget to tell Stan I'll be in around two, and then you can take my place at the hospital."

"Whatever…" Mary grumbled. "I mean, I'll tell him."

Marshall remained incredulous of her nonchalance and discarded his magazine, scooting over in his chair to be closer to her. Dropping his voice so the kids couldn't listen in, he made the recommendation Mary absolutely should've forecasted.

"You know…" whispering stealthily. "If this is uncomfortable for you, I can always take the kids back by myself and you can wait out here."

"Forget it," Mary cut him off almost at once, shoving him back so as not to look prominent. "I'm not gonna be like Brandi, putting my own selfish needs over my children. What world are you living in, doofus?"

"Just a suggestion," he restated for good measure.

"Lizzie would never stand for it," Mary rationalized for her own peace of mind. "I'm going."

And Marshall knew when it was imprudent to argue, "All right then."

Settling himself more naturally in his chair yet again, he busied himself gazing around the room at the other patrons waiting to see the doctor. Smaller than the children's waiting room at the hospital, this space was carpeted and boasted the small play center Ben and Lizzie were locked in at the moment. Besides the building table, there was a book rack, a bin full of balls and stuffed animals, and a springy looking backdrop on the wall depicting a field of green trees. In some ways, it was actually nicer than the pediatric ward at Mesa Regional, mostly because the people who worked here obviously expected kids to be playing – not so at the hospital.

So engrossed in everything there was to offer, Marshall neglected to notice that a woman on the far side of the room was eying him – or perhaps he'd been eying her accidentally. To make up for his possible slip-up in rudeness, he smiled politely to show he hadn't intended to stare.

She took it at face value, pausing in helping her daughter pick a book.

"Are these two yours?" she asked nicely, signifying Ben and Lizzie nearby.

"Yes," Marshall nodded, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Mary had tuned in now that he was talking to a pretty girl.

"Are they twins?"

"Yeah…" he confirmed, smile growing wider as his pride leaked out. "Fraternal, clearly."

He was used to this assumption from strangers, but it still baffled him on occasion. Being male and female, Ben and Lizzie didn't entirely fit the 'twin' bill because they didn't look exactly alike. Yet, people always seemed to guess anyway. He saw them every day, and so their similarities weren't as striking to him, but apparently to others it could not be denied. They were as identical as it was possible to be when one was a girl and one was a boy.

"They're adorable," the woman told him. "And they play so well together. My kids can't get along for two seconds," a chuckle.

Marshall took the compliment for what it was, "Thank-you. We're very lucky."

He was positive Mary had heard him say as such, which was her favorite response when people gushed over the twins. Not a superstitious individual, she still attributed Ben's and Lizzie's wellness to luck and good fortune. Yes, much of it had to do with the skilled practitioners who had nurtured them in their first fragile weeks of life, but a part of her called upon a higher power to ensure that they turned out okay.

And over energetic, meek, greedy, sensitive, shy, or brazen, that was exactly what they were, especially when you considered Holly's plight – they were okay.

"Sorry to intrude," the stranger laughed when Marshall went slightly blank. "I hope I wasn't bothering you."

"Of course not," Marshall commented respectfully. "I appreciate the compliment."

"Go out with her, why don't you?" Mary added as an aside in his ear, her breath warm. "Sitting right here, Poindexter."

It was his turn to smirk; knowing Mary was only fooling around and didn't feel threatened in the least, but he liked to see that lion rear it's had now and again. Seeing her jealous, even marginally, was a hoot.

"Like you don't flirt when the men come calling," he accused, leaving the random woman in the rearview.

"At least I'm not so _obvious_ about it," Mary invented. "Shameless, that's what you are."

"Ah…" Marshall leaned over; slipping a quick kiss onto her cheek as proof he only had eyes for one. "You know the rest of feminine civilization pales in comparison to my girl."

"That only earns you a few points back."

Whatever additional marks he could salvage were going to have to be addressed at a later date. A nurse emerged from the staircase off to the left, pulling forth a file from inside a plastic slot in the wall. After flipping through the papers indolently, she called to the room at large, as the nurses had been doing all morning.

"Benjamin and Elizabeth Mann!"

Both kids looked up upon hearing their full, given names – Ben somewhat benign, Lizzie instantly apprehensive.

"You can come on back!"

Lizzie dispiritedly dropped her blocks, knowing the time was now. Marshall stood first, hoisting Ben to his feet, because he was likely to stay and play with the Legos all day if they let him. Mary did a quick scan of the area around her before locating Pretzel the bear underneath her chair. Marshall was already halfway across the room, dragging Ben by his fingers as he complained about not getting to finish his tower before Mary coaxed Lizzie to get up and get moving.

"Come on, baby…" she urged tenderly. "Time to go."

Precariously, Lizzie did manage to stand up, gripping Mary's hand with what were extremely sweaty palms. This disheartened the mother, learning that she was quite literally shaking in her boots, so much so it was making her perspire, which for a five-year-old was no easy feat.

To avoid fixating on this, Mary made a split-second decision and lugged Lizzie up and into her arms. She didn't usually carry her; for despite her daughter's distaste for all things spooky, she did claim fairly often that she was 'not a baby.' Today, however, it was plain that she didn't mind in the least, looping her arms around Mary's neck as she jogged to catch up with her husband and son.

It was something of a frenzy once they finally made it into an exam room with too-high cots and no kid's books to entertain. The nurse made a fuss over Ben and Lizzie, delighted to learn they were twins just like the woman in the waiting room. Ben was gleeful at all the attention and started showing off, while Lizzie turned withdrawn and huddled on Mary's lap in the only chair there was available.

"So…" the nurse finally got down to business, however, and faced the group before diving right in. "Meningitis vaccines today, huh?"

"That's right," Marshall established swimmingly from where he was standing by the door, hands on Ben's shoulders so he wouldn't knock anything over in his liveliness. "Any chance we could get a two-for-one deal?" a joke.

"If only," the nurse played along. "I should tell you guys that you're probably going to have sore arms for the rest of the day, okay? But, it's nothing to worry about."

She spoke in a sunny, sing-song type voice to lure the kids into a false sense of security. Lizzie was far from reassured and grappled tighter to Mary's neck; it seemed Ben hadn't even heard. This nurse they were dealing with – her tag read 'Heather' – was much younger than Shannon from the Holly escapades. Her hair was styled in a blonde up-do, her blue scrubs printed with giant pink hair bows. Mary had to stop herself from gagging at that design.

"We can handle a little ache and pain, right soldiers?" Marshall tried to sound breezy and unconcerned, so as to put Lizzie at ease.

It worked on Ben, "Right!" flexing his arm menacingly, as he often did when he wanted to show strangers his 'muscles.'

"Okay then…" Heather giggled at his display, the way most adults did because he was so outgoing. "Let's get moving so you all can be on your way. Who wants to go first?"

'Wants' was an interesting term to use, Mary thought. Regardless of Ben's fervor, she couldn't imagine he really _wanted_ to do what was being asked of him. But, like a champ, he volunteered at once, almost like he was forgetting what lay ahead.

"I'll do it!" he declared, and without further ado he climbed ungracefully onto the bed, crackling and wrinkling the thin sheet of paper that resided over the cushion.

"Good man," Marshall tousled his hair, beaming because he'd stepped up so Lizzie wouldn't have to.

Watching her son from her post, Mary couldn't help but be slightly awed. Ben really was unflappable, cool as a cucumber and swaying his dangling feet above the floor. You'd think this was all a semi-interesting trip to the zoo to him. Mary thought back to all the times she'd had IV's placed in her arm when she'd been pregnant, and thought he even rivaled her bravery when it came to sharp objects.

But, he was still her baby, and the thought of his flesh being pieced was enough to make her stand up, swinging Lizzie onto her hip and joining Marshall by the door. Knowing his wife's motivations, he held out his arms so she could pass Lizzie to him.

"You got her?" she wanted to make sure before letting go, glad her daughter had not begged to be returned to her mother.

"Yep. She's good. Do your thing, mom."

The admiration in his voice was enough to make Mary blush, but she was able to cover by sliding onto the edge of the cot next to Ben. Careful not to go too close and foil his tough guy nature, she simply sat in order to be a presence, should he decide he needed it.

Heather fumbled in the cabinets for several minutes, the air growing heavy with uneasiness, even if it wasn't Ben's. Never a fan of too much quiet, Mary broke the silence, never mind how awkward.

"You know you two get out of school for the holidays on Thursday," she reminded them, just as another thought sprung to mind. "And Nana and Papa Seth are coming on Friday."

"I'll be," Marshall remarked in surprise. "That had completely slipped my mind," Mary was glad not to be alone on this front.

"Nana's coming?" Lizzie questioned timidly.

"And Papa Seth," Marshall segued. "Don't leave him out. That'll be fun, huh Ben?"

Crickets.

"Ben?"

It took Mary a moment to realize what had happened. Her son's lack-of-reaction to the news of his grandparents visiting was conspicuous. But, when his mother looked into his round-cheeked, cherub face, she saw that he'd gone slack. His lighthearted attitude had vanished, and there was only one guess as to why.

Nurse Heather was finally ready, Ben's eyes round as saucers as he got a good look at the syringe. Evidently, his expectations for the size of the shot were a little out of proportion. Mary distinctly saw him recoil, but he caught himself once everyone started looking at him.

"Is he left or right handed?" Heather inquired as she pulled back Ben's shirtsleeve and began swabbing him with the strong-smelling alcohol.

"Left," Marshall reported, glad she'd thought to ask since Ben was indeed a lefty.

"Then we'll go for the right."

Ben was biting his lip now, like the words he wanted to say were just dying to escape but he was keeping them locked within as long as possible. Mary knew he was trying to be strong, that he didn't want anyone to see that he was frightened. Struck with sudden inspiration, she nudged herself closer to him, whispering in his ear so that he and he alone could hear her.

"Geez Ben…that thing is bigger than I thought," Mary worked to make her voice sound trembling. "I really hate looking at it. Come sit on my lap and protect me."

Not needing to be told twice, Ben scrambled onto Mary's knees and immediately snuggled into her chest. Unable to totally remove his eyes from the spectacle, he gazed dreadfully, winding himself nearer and nearer to his mother while Marshall occupied Lizzie.

In the split second they had before Heather came in for the kill, Mary took her chance.

"Hold my hand…" she encouraged, straight into his lobe, and he reluctantly slipped one out of his iron hold to allow it to rest inside Mary's fingers. And she abandoned all pretense, "If it hurts, you squeeze real hard, okay?"

No one picked up on this direction except for Ben, and his final phrase was quick, "I…I'm not scared…"

"Of course not," Mary scoffed believably. "It's me who needs you."

"Mmm hmm…" a high pitched hum.

She saw the bullet aiming for its target and accidentally raised her voice to normal speaking level, "Ben, close your eyes."

It was the first instruction she'd given that came out sounding harsh, but it made him listen, at the very least. She simply abhorred the idea of him watching the needle penetrate his skin, which was what he'd been about to see had he continued watching. As it was, his lids snapped closed and Mary got a full view, but distracted herself by burrowing him tighter against her ribcage.

He did cringe fairly noticeably, and the yank on her hand wasn't light either, but it was the fact that he was so clearly battling the urge to burst into tears that did her in. His eyes were squeezed together so stiffly Mary could see the wetness brimming on his lashes. She wanted to tell him it was all right, that he didn't have to put up the front, but saying this during the injection probably wasn't the best idea.

It was only when he was seconds away from victory that he surrendered to impulse, "Mama…" a quavering whimper snuck out and he squirmed. "It hurts…"

"I know, bud…"

But then it was over, and Mary could tell the second the pressure was lifted, because Ben went limp all over and the nurse turned upbeat once more.

"All done! What a great job! You were so brave!"

Despite how canned this line was, Mary appreciated her saying it all the same because Ben came out of his fog and smiled, blinking back moisture from his beautiful blue eyes. Mary wiped his unshed tears out of habit, pleased to see him grinning, and kissed his temple in praise of his powering through.

"Nice work, spark…" Marshall held out a free hand for a low five, which Ben smacked with vigor. "You didn't even make a peep!" though Mary knew Marshall had heard him sniveling.

"Let's see if we can find you a cool band aid…" Heather began digging in a clear cylindrical contraption on the counter. "Cover up that wound…"

While Ben was busy with the nurse, already chattering away about needing something with superheroes, Marshall used the opportunity shift Lizzie onto the table. Mary was not all together astonished to see him sit down next to her. Lizzie would never purposely try to bolt from the room or wiggle out of the way, like a bratty, defiant little girl, but she did tend to whip around rather erratically if she got upset enough. It made Mary feel better to have Marshall right there in case she started flailing, however unintentionally.

Unfortunately, things didn't start out very well. Mary could tell the minute Lizzie landed in her lap that she was shaking. Sometimes, it was easy to pretend her daughter's fearful side was just part of who she was, but there was no denying on occasion that it got out of control. The night terrors proved that.

"Come on Lizzie Lou…" Marshall stroked her hair soothingly. "It won't take long at all; you just saw Ben and it was no big deal."

Ben himself interrupted this exchange, returned from his scavenger hunt, "Look mom! Superman!" he lifted his shirt up to show the red and blue band aid on his bicep. "Man of Steel!" a growling noise sounded from deep in his throat, feeling courageous all over again.

"Awesome…" Marshall was the one to appear interested because Mary was trying to arrange Lizzie so that she didn't tumble off the table. "Sit in that chair for just a second," he gestured where Mary had been stationed when they'd first arrived. "We're gonna get Lizzie squared away and then you guys are off to school."

"Man…" Ben groaned. "Not school!"

"Yes, school," Marshall was still pointing, and kept his finger aloft until Ben parked himself. "Strengthens the mind."

Heather chuckled after hearing Marshall describe education as such, and she was much faster on the second go around in preparing the syringe than she'd been on the first. Mary guessed she'd arranged both shots at the same time, because she was already headed toward Lizzie, who was about to have a stroke.

"Mama, I don't want to…" she cried pitifully, sounding sadder and more afraid than Mary had heard her in sometime. "I don't want to!" she was clawing at her back she was so desperate to get away.

"Liz, it will be really short…" Mary insisted, struggling to keep her still. "Marshall, hold her back…"

They were not going to resort to 'holding her down.' Mary had made that decision a long time ago, but with the child pressed against her chest and Marshall anchoring her with his hand, it simply ensured she wouldn't fall clear over. In hearing Lizzie start sobbing even before the nurse administered the vaccine; Mary began to feel the pangs of guilt. It was her, who had always been so manic over her children's health, that was making her go through this.

"What about this one?" Heather spoke through the chaos, apparently used to wailing children. "Lefty or righty?"

"Right, so you'd better go for her left arm," Marshall supplied, just as he realized in all the commotion that Lizzie had left her bear on the floor. "Here's Pretzel; do you want him?"

Lizzie was crying too hard to answer, wrapped up in all her fears like she was about to be sent to execution.

"How long does this take?" Mary asked Heather on a whim as she swabbed Lizzie's arm. "Approximately?"

"To be safe, go with five seconds."

"Lizzie…" Mary spoke as calmly as she could muster. "Daddy's going to count to five and then it'll be over, okay? Not even ten; five seconds, that's it…"

The timeframe did quiet the little girl momentarily, or maybe it was the need to close her mouth to gulp for a few breaths of air. Her tiny nails were still biting into Mary's back from where she sat with her head over her mother's shoulder, but at least she stopped resisting.

"Okay?" Marshall prompted, fully ready to commit to the task. "Here we go…"

He watched carefully from his side of the bed, waiting for the exact moment when needle made contact with tissue. The minute he saw the shot hit its mark, he spouted off, prepared to be of service.

"One…two…"

It was on 'three' that the prick and pressure combined must've kicked in; because the quiet that had fallen since Lizzie's momentary lapse in horror was shattered in an instant. She screamed – a truly bloodcurdling, bone-chilling, gut wrenching scream that made her jump, fortunately not enough to mess up the injection, but enough that Mary had to pull her back.

"Lizzie, its okay…"

"Three…four…"

"Stop-stop!" the bawling in Mary's ear was enough to make her want to hit the nurse to grant her daughter's request, but reassurances were all she had.

"I know…you're almost there…"

"Five."

"That's it!" Heather declared buoyantly. "You are all finished, missy! Would you like a fun band aid too?"

But, Lizzie was gone, a tragic heap in Mary's lap, still howling to beat the band. Grateful she didn't have to hold her still anymore, she patted her wiry curls and then rubbed circles onto her back, all the while trying to contemplate what her five-year-old's threshold for pain was really like.

"You're all right…" Mary reminded her consolingly. "You're okay. You're all done. I'm proud of you, Liz."

This didn't have the same effect on her daughter as it did on her son. All she received in return were mumbled, muttered recounts of her harrowing experience.

"It hurt bad…it poked…it poked my arm…"

"Take a breath, baby," Mary advised, seeing that Marshall and Ben had taken up the task of choosing an appropriate band aid. "You'll feel better."

It was a wonder she was able to inhale and exhale at all, the way she was going. Seeing that she wasn't going to be able to uncurl her from the fetal position if they stayed the way they were, Mary opted to stand once more, coaxing Lizzie to commence with her theatrics while being held upright.

"You were a pro, Lizzie…" Marshall honored his little girl with a pat on the shoulder, lying through his teeth about how plucky she'd been. "We found you a great band aid; it has these lovely hearts on it…"

"Gross…" Mary commented, hoping to elicit some feedback while Marshall pasted the plaster onto Lizzie's arm. "Who needs _hearts_?"

Her child did bite, however minimally and with her face still buried, "I…I l-like hearts m-mama…" hiccupping between every word.

"Please…" she kept right on guffawing. "Don't you want something like dinosaurs or dump trucks?"

This time, Lizzie surfaced, showing what a mess her face had become. She looked more puzzled than amused, but at least Mary's little diversion had made her stop crying long enough to think.

"I…I don't like…dump trucks…" she said in a small voice, as though Mary were slightly touched in the head.

"No?" the blonde teased. "Well then, I guess hearts will have to do if that's your thing…"

Before Lizzie could twist around enough to get a look at her lovey-dovey band-aid, Mary's cell phone went off in her pocket. Groaning because she knew she couldn't reach it without releasing her daughter, she slipped her to the floor with muttered promises that she'd only be a minute.

"Hang on…" stooping to the ground, she made sure Lizzie was secure before digging her cell out, for Marshall was busy asking Nurse Heather a few questions. "Give me a second." Retrieving the phone, "This is Mary."

"Hey kiddo, it's me."

Stan. Probably wondering where she was, as the doctor's office had been running behind even before they'd gotten there, despite being some of the first appointments of the day.

"Hey, what's up?" Mary responded. "Sorry, Marshall and I are a little late, but we're just heading out the door."

"No problem," Stan claimed easily. "I was just checking up on you; seeing to it that the kids survived their shots."

"Barely," Mary decided. "I'll take a picture of Ben with his Superman band aid and send it to you; he'll love that."

"You know I love one who is willing to rouse the troops…" her boss was big on rallying. "Kept Miss Lizzie in check, I suppose?"

"Well, not really…"

But, no sooner were the words out of Mary's mouth than she noticed what was going on right at her feet. Marshall, getting all sorts of what promised to be useless information from the nurse, was totally absent from the happenings. Mary would've been too, had she consumed herself in Stan, but mention of the twins had her eyes straying to their forms. She'd never be able to thank Stan enough for providing her with the opportunity she would've otherwise missed.

Lizzie was still weeping, looking wholly shaken up, hesitating like she was trying to decide whether or not to rub her sore arm. Ben was standing about two feet away – the pair of them were too distanced to be together, yet too close to call apart. From what Mary could see, Ben was studying the bright green lollipop in his hand. Lizzie's, which she had mostly disregarded, was a shade of plum.

"I didn't want purple…" Mary heard her mumble, and everyone in the vicinity knew she'd never have the gumption to ask for a different flavor.

Apparently, this solidified whatever Ben had been waffling on, "Do you want mine?" he held out his candy without a second thought.

"What flavor's green?" Lizzie asked, sniffling to keep her nose from dripping.

"Lime. Or apple."

Lizzie didn't dither about once Ben resolved to be generous, "Can I?"

"Sure."

Lizzie moved to hand over her sucker, but Ben stopped her, "You can have both."

"Really?"

"Yeah. They're yours."

And in a gesture that made Mary forget completely that she was on the phone with her chief, she felt her heart melt into an overflowing puddle as Ben put one arm around his sister, unmistakably hugging her, wanting to help, wanting to comfort. She was well aware, even in her stupor, that he'd done it because he didn't think anyone was watching, and so she had to be careful not to call attention to herself.

Lizzie visibly sunk into his soft motion, their all-but identical heads knocking together.

"Can you give me some of your super powers so my arm will feel better?"

She sounded so earnest, so faithful, and Ben adopted a persona so different from his usual arrogant self. Without a word, he let go and patted her good arm, offering a pleasant smile.

"I'll use my x-ray vision and burn a hole where they stuck you so it won't hurt anymore."

Mary almost laughed at this logic, if not for being so touched, but Lizzie bought into every word.

"Thanks Ben."

Before returning to what was probably an important phone call with Stan, Mary couldn't help but be thumped by a notion that had been following her around since Holly had gone into the hospital. How could people like Brandi and her father bail in the hardest moments? How could her sister refuse to be by her child's side when she was writhing in pain, as Mary had done with Lizzie?

Hard it might have been, but it was almost worth it to see this – pure, tender, wholesome innocence – as the end result. She could only hope Brandi would still be around when that day finally arrived for Holly.

XXX

**A/N: I hope the chapters aren't getting too long! They tend to be about this length from here on out! I also hope the shots thing wasn't too dramatic – it made for some good Mary/Marshall/twin cuddling!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Much love to the readers and reviewers!**

XXX

The stressful start to the day did a number on Mary, and a big part of her was glad once she released the twins to Marshall so they could be dropped off at school, and she could take her own car to work. The weekend felt as if it had dragged on forever, the time since the phone call early Saturday morning moving at a snail's pace. It would've been nice if both she and Marshall could've gone to the office together, but the switch-off was best, given that Brandi was still rather inconsistent about staying with Holly and it helped to have a third body in the vicinity other than Rachel. Jinx had preschool classes at the dance studio and wouldn't be able to return to the hospital until after lunch.

That meant it was just Mary, Stan, and Delia on what was a very bright, but cold December morning. Frosty but extremely sunny, the early dawn rays of light shone brilliantly through the upper floor of the Sunshine Building, illuminating more than just the bald spot on Stan's head when he emerged from his office with a stack of file folders. The luster of the glow also caught all the dust inhabiting the furniture, which meant Mary spent the better part of ten minutes blowing filth off her desk for peace of mind.

"If you have time when you're done with those…" Stan initiated as he stopped short in front of Mary's counter, dumping his pile on her already overflowing surface. "All this information needs to be imported too. I know you hate the clerical stuff, but since the witnesses have flown under the radar what with it being close to the holidays, it's good we have the time to do it."

"Humph…" Mary grumbled resentfully, restacking his folders so she wouldn't lose them. "It's times like these that I wish we still had Eleanor. But don't go spreading that around," she pointed a very jutting finger in Stan's face.

"As if Chicago would ever let her out of their sight," Stan sighed, leaning a hand on the wood and taking a break, clearly not in the mood to buckle down on a Monday morning. "We should just be grateful our charges haven't caused much trouble. It's nice that even _they_ seem to want a breather during this time of year."

"The criminals, no…" Mary speculated, still shifting the mounds all over her desk. "But, the witnesses who give a shit about their safety want to spend the holidays trauma-free with their families. They don't want us knocking on their door."

"There's a Hallmark card," Stan teased with a smirk. "In any case, it would seem you are right. Look out come New Year's Eve though."

"I've been here long enough to know the ropes, chief," she reminded him, extracting the papers she was looking for and propping them against a framed photo of Ben and Lizzie so she could type up the contents. "You're just lucky I didn't say no to the mindless stuff today. Given everything going on with Holly, its hard not to enjoy the monotony of this archive," indicating the computer.

Despite how tedious some of the paperwork became, Mary knew it was a necessary evil, and she also meant what she said to her boss about the dullness being a comfort. Her life had felt so hectic in just two days, and being productive on something, even something dreary, was the best she could ask for. It kept her mind elsewhere, at the very least.

"How is Holly doing?" Stan asked, even easing himself onto the corner of the desk like he was anticipating staying for an extended period of time. "We didn't really have a chance to talk over the weekend."

Mary rubbed her eyes with her hand; just thinking about 'the weekend' made her tired, "God only knows. I guess she's okay. I'm less worried about her and more my nutcase of a sister."

Stan's nose crinkled up under his deep brown eyes when he frowned, "What's up with Brandi? She's not in trouble again, is she?"

"I honestly have no idea," Mary was frank. "For all I know, she could be in another Chuck situation and I'll be as blindsided this time as I was all those years ago."

"You really think it's something that dangerous?" he didn't appear convinced. "She's seemed pretty reformed the last few years – every time I've seen her, she behaves like she's gotten her act together."

"Up until Holly was born, I'd say that was true," Mary agreed, but only in part. "She may love Holly, but she doesn't get half of what it takes to be a parent. She doesn't _get_ that you put your life on hold indefinitely – that your kids are your entire world; that you don't even function like a normal person until they are safe in their beds each night, and even then it's always with one eye open."

Silence followed this rather brash and extreme set of criteria. Stan looked somewhat flummoxed that Mary could be so intense about her children, but he shouldn't have been. Anyone who had been around when she'd been pregnant had to know that her babies were her most precious gemstones, that she would move heaven and earth to keep them out of harm's way or die trying.

"Like…you do?" Stan eventually proceeded cautiously. "You get all that?"

His motive was to get her to see that her expectations might be a bit too high, but Mary answered the question very simply.

"Yes. I do."

His intentions having failed, Stan decided to motor around the subject of parenthood because, not being a father himself, he couldn't entirely weigh in on the position. What had snatched his ear early on was Mary's insinuation that Brandi might be in some kind of a jam. Although familiar with the younger sister's brush with the law, he liked to think she had matured considerably since those days. Evidently, Mary had other ideas.

"Well…but…you said something about the Chuck situation," he duplicated her words. "Has Brandi given you any inkling that whatever she's involved in is that hazardous?"

Mary scowled deeply as a result of this question, because she did not in fact have ample evidence that Brandi was doing anything at all. Beyond the actions sucking up her time and being what would appear to be minimally clueless, she was as clean as a whistle. But, Mary knew her sister – she knew that if she was being secretive, there was a very good reason for it.

"I don't know…" she sighed and put down her pen, suddenly glad to have a third party to discuss this with, someone outside of her husband, though she valued his opinion very much. "Last night she came over and told Marshall that the Autoplex had hired some goon who embezzled money from the company, and that Peter lost quite a bit."

"And you think she's involved?"

"Well…no…" Mary hesitated, squinting like she was trying to see the answer shimmering far away. "I don't, actually. Between you and me, she's not smart enough, and what does she need the money for? Peter's loaded. Or, at least he was until this clown stole his funds right out from under his nose."

"Right-right…" Stan interspersed, waiting for his inspector to go on.

"But, she let something slip to Marshall about trying to replace the money herself. What the hell could she be wrapped up in if she's trying to pull off something like that? And on what _planet_ does she think it's more important than her daughter?"

She had to fight not pounding on the desk when she was reminded of this reality once again. She thought of all those times Holly had begged for Brandi, rosy-cheeked and terrified, and Brandi had not been there. Mary saw Lizzie's face and her horror and couldn't conceive being anywhere but right by her side.

"So, you think that's where she goes when she's not at the hospital?" Stan, once again, made an effort to put the pieces together. "Marshall filled me in on that much – that she tends to be MIA."

"Where else could she be going?" it was the only thing that made sense. "Unless she's telling the truth, that seeing Holly all laid up is just too hard for her, which would just make her the selfish brat she's been since she was thirteen."

Stan voted for letting the silence hang at that point, as Mary had begun typing feverishly – most likely in an effort to ward him off arguing with her. He was not a man who could really claim to understand what Mary's and Brandi's relationship was like. He got most of his information from Marshall, who typically described it as 'crotchety, but heartfelt' and he didn't really know what to make of that assessment. There was no contradicting that Brandi had indeed gotten Mary into some very tight corners over the years, but Stan had taken it for granted that his inspector had moved past all that. Perhaps he was wrong.

"You really think its self-absorption, huh?" he pondered thoughtfully after a moment or two. "Not willing to give her the benefit of the doubt."

"Not this time," Mary sniped without looking up. "That kid may not like me, but if Brandi's going to be flying by the seat of her pants all the time, she needs someone to be her mother – or at least a stand-in."

Now the chief was confused, "What kid? Holly?" And then, figuring this was who she meant, "Holly likes you. Doesn't she?" it was funny how he could sound so certain and then ask for clarification all in a matter of milliseconds.

Mary made a noise, something between a guffaw and a whine, "Not really. Marshall is her go-to, if you're looking at the two of us. It's not like I'm offended; she's three years old. Or, nearly three years old."

Oddly, Stan did believe her when she said she didn't feel insulted. There was nothing in her phrases to indicate she was holding back on that front, although it would be just like Mary to pretend she didn't care what a child thought of her when in reality she did.

"Why do you suppose she doesn't?" the boss put forth, wanting Mary to see that he was taking her opinion at face value. "Marshall's a pretty loveable lug, hard not to like him…"

"Well, 'loveable lug' is right out of his dictionary, so thanks for that," she complained with a roll of her eyes. "But, beats me. She spends more time with me and Marshall than she does with Brandi, and yet every time I see her, that's who it's all about. Brandi-Brandi-Brandi."

But, this account of events struck something in the older man. He got to his feet with the revelation, though he wasn't sure how smart it was to run it by Mary. He didn't want his epiphany to make her feel like he saw where the little girl was coming from – that Mary should be more easygoing, more relaxed, more like the 'cool, fun aunt' in young adult novels. Nonetheless, she'd seen him rise and the way her brows were inching inward meant she was going to bombard him sooner rather than later.

"What, you gonna weigh in on this?" she threw out there, like she was reading Stan's mind. "Enlighten me, Doctor McQueen. Who needs Finkel when I've got my own shrink right here?"

And she even rolled her chair back and crossed her ankles beneath the desk, hands behind her head, most assuredly putting Stan on the spot. He let out a nervous chortle, shaking his head as if to indicate that his theory was not to be treated as the gospel. This was unlikely as it was; only Marshall's hypotheses were good enough for Mary.

"I am no expert, inspector," Stan shrugged. "By any stretch of the imagination. But, I'm just curious. Do you think Holly maybe picks up on the fact that you're not exactly fond of Brandi – or at least disapproving of the way she runs her life?"

Mary opened her mouth to say something – maybe to dispute this cockamamie concept – but nothing came out. Instead, she found herself going over what Stan had said another time. It wasn't as though she acted scornful of Brandi right in front of her niece – that would be in poor taste, no matter how accurate her suspicions were. But, it was hard to think of a time when Holly had been dropped on her doorstep that Mary _didn't_ act annoyed or inconvenienced that Brandi was running out on her child yet again. Mary knew kids were smarter than most people gave them credit for, and it was entirely plausible Holly had sensed this vibe, even subconsciously.

And Marshall – Marshall never behaved that way. He never brought Brandi into the equation when it came to Holly. While it was hard to accept that a mother could sometimes be so flippant, he'd taken the circumstances in their stride. If Holly was with them, Marshall was all about having fun, escaping the stress and the pressures of everyday life, and making sure that Holly – as well as his own children – were happy.

Stan must've seen that he was the one to catch her off guard this time, because he picked up his presumption without waiting around any longer for a response.

"Don't get me wrong, Mary," he made it appear like he was backing down. "If I were in your position, I think I would find it tough to hide my resentment too. You're entitled to that."

"What a compliment…" she muttered, but she meant it.

"I'm just saying, Holly doesn't know any better. She knows her mommy isn't with her, and that's all she cares about."

"That's for sure."

"I'm not telling you to change your ways or to cut Brandi any slack…"

"Because you know what's good for you."

"But, it's just a guess on my part. If you want Holly to warm up to you…"

He didn't finish whatever he was thinking and hunched his shoulders, knowing Mary could figure out the rest on her own. It helped not to have Stan throwing his weight around, acting philosophical and all-knowing when it came to her sister, something he rarely did anyway. When the analysis came from Stan, she knew it was pure fact and not advice, something she could definitely appreciate. Then again, being told she was right about Brandi didn't hurt either.

"It's not like Holly hates me or anything," Mary finally offered up, not wanting the man to think a little girl was giving her the stink eye twenty-four-seven. "She just doesn't seem as comfortable with me as she does with Marshall. There's some distance, you know?"

"I can understand that," Stan reverberated. "I'm sure some of it has nothing to do with you. Her parents are fighting and she's sick as a dog. Any kid going through that isn't going to be pals with just anybody."

"There is that."

Mary was glad to leave it on this note; it seemed Stan was done trying to play psychiatrist, and she had work to do. It made her head hurt to have to turn everything on its end like this, to evaluate where and when she'd fallen short with Holly. It wasn't anything she fretted over daily, just something that lingered in the dustier corners of her brain, when she noticed the difference between Holly and the twins.

This last thought must've resonated in her features; there was every chance she looked blank and unfocused, and Stan definitely picked up on it. He must not have wanted to get cracking on his boring holiday office work either.

"What is that face?" he mused with a genial smirk, sticking his hand on his hip.

Mary grinned at his fatherly nature alone, snapping her back to reality, "Nothing. Talking about Holly…" she wagged her head at her desktop, as though the answers were there, but the confusion came out her mouth instead. "She really isn't like Ben and Liz. There's something there that's…" unsure what the politically correct term would be. "…I don't know. Missing."

Stan made no move to answer on this go around, like he knew Mary was working out the clues herself. As it was, she just kept right on rambling, whether her boss had the time to listen or not.

"Some days, I work _so_ hard trying _not_ to blame my sister. I mean, Marshall wouldn't exactly swear to that, because I don't share _everything_ with him, but honestly, I try to find the solution someplace else…"

"You're a US Marshal, kiddo. It's what you do."

Spurred by this accolade, Mary continued, "But, I still think its Brandi. I think its Brandi not being around, I think its Brandi being unable to handle the responsibility, Brandi telling herself Holly is better off with someone else because she thinks so little of herself. Whether it's with me and Marshall or with Peter, it's like she can't take the liability; she's too afraid of screwing up and so she runs thinking she's doing the right thing," she had to pause to take a breath, and then finished. "Which is so damned backwards and I wish I could make her understand, and I can't."

At the conclusion, Mary actually raked both hands through her hair, staring hard at the wooden surface in front of her, willing the answers to Brandi's self-esteem problems to come to light. Marshall always made it sound like it was a matter of flattery, that if she believed in Brandi, then Brandi would come around, but Mary couldn't stop thinking they were past that point. The younger sister wasn't supposed to be a self-conscious teenager anymore, but a grown woman. It couldn't all be attributed to Mary's over-confidence and Brandi's lack thereof.

"Stan…" it was like she'd just remembered he was there, but he was still paying rapt attention even in her brief break from civilization. "I don't think I know how to look at my own kids objectively. Do you see a difference in the two of them and Holly? Holly seems so…" she hated to say it, but it was true. "Unhappy. Even before this meningitis thing - so morose for such a little-_little_ girl."

Stan took the question seriously, leaning both palms on the desk to look straight into the whirling vortex that was Mary's green eyes. He could tell even in the quiet that she wanted an honest response; he would do his best, even not knowing Holly as well as he knew Ben and Lizzie.

"Mary…" an exhale, hoping she knew he was being truthful and not outlandishly praising. "I _love_ your kids. You know I do." He had to stop just to revel in her blushing smile, "Ben absolutely cracks me up. I have never met a four-year-old…"

"He's five…"

"Right, sorry," a laugh, knowing he was prone to losing track of their ages. "I've never known a five-year-old with his kind of wit. Underneath all that energy, he is brilliant; Marshall's brain works at super speed in that tiny head of his, not to mention your sense of humor."

Mary wanted to tell him he didn't have to be so elaborate, but she couldn't deny she enjoyed hearing him gush over her children. It was what being a mom was all about, as far as she was concerned.

"And every time I see Lizzie, I am an awe of how sweet she is…"

"Why? Because she's got cranky old me for a mother?" Mary quipped, but Stan ignored her.

"No, because you don't see that kind of genuine sincerity in anyone anymore," he claimed. "That's Marshall too. But, she's got that worrying gene, which she obviously snagged from you," a wagging finger. "It's because she cares so much about other people that she worries."

"I get scared sometimes because she worries so much," Mary admitted, almost with shame as though she'd intentionally given her daughter this trait. "That's where I think she's more like Holly…"

"She's not, kiddo," Stan cut her off, sounding sure. "Lizzie's is fleeting – it's this rush of fear, but then it goes away," Mary wondered if he'd say that if he knew about the nightmares. "From what I can see, I don't think Holly worries. I think she's lost. And, before I get too around the bend here, the point of everything I just said is that I don't think you're imagining it – I get the sense from Holly, when I see her, that she doesn't fit anywhere; she doesn't know who she is."

Mary wasn't entirely expecting this, and yet it made sense, "Great. An identity crisis at three years old."

"Well, but you're right…" Stan leaned back, his lesson over. "Stability is what would help, once she gets over this awful illness."

"Too bad Brandi doesn't know the meaning of the word," Mary shook her head. "But, thanks for the insight, Stan. I didn't know you were so well-versed in child psychology."

"Being around your husband for something like fifteen years means I pick up on a few things," he declared with a smug smile. "Happy to do what I can."

Without another word, he turned on his heel to stroll back to his office, unable to delay operations any longer. But, just as he was halfway there, Mary's cell phone starting buzzing beneath her mountains of papers. Stan stopped the minute he heard it, although for what Mary wasn't sure; maybe he was looking for some WITSEC excitement in an otherwise dreary day.

Once she unearthed the phone, she saw that it was Marshall's name blinking on the screen. As she'd only left him at the doctor's office roughly two hours before, she didn't know what would prompt him to call her already. He wasn't due to be at work until two; the call was somewhat ill-omened and Mary felt all the negative talk about Holly sink heavily into her gut.

"Marshall?" Stan guessed just before Mary hit the talk button.

"Yeah…" And then to her husband, "What's up? Is everything okay?"

Marshall's voice floated through, "Well…"

It was amazing how only one word could tell the woman so much. The hesitancy in the man's tone gave her several hints as well, but that single phrase, just four little letters, had her convinced something was indeed out of kilter. Holly had-had to contend with projectile vomiting the day before. What now?

"Marshall, spit it out," Mary demanded, causing Stan to venture back the direction he had come.

"Holly's suffered some…" a minimal gap before lowering the boom. "Complications."

Complications. Mary definitely registered the significance of this specific term. 'Complications' were not the same as 'setbacks.' The puking the day before – that was a setback, not a complication. 'Complication' was one of those scary words; one that meant there was no turning around, at least in Holly's case. There was something horrifyingly permanent about complications; Brandi and Peter had always made them sound more serious than the day-to-day aches and pains.

"Complications," Mary repeated, hating the sound of the expression already. "Like what? Is this something…kind of…not temporary?" the threat of brain damage was still at the apex of her psyche, and it was causing her to sound jumbled.

"They're not sure yet," Marshall disclosed. "And, I shouldn't have said 'complications' when it's really 'complication.' Singular."

"What happened?"

"Holly had a seizure," he let it loose. "Two actually. Small ones, nothing of the grand-mal variety, but just the same…"

His sentence tapered into nothingness when a loud, strident noise penetrated through the speaker, making Mary jump and pull the phone from her ear for a split second. She caught snatches of conversation – more like arguments – and there wasn't a man's voice mingling in the crossfire, but that of two women.

"Hang on, sorry…" Marshall relayed distractedly. To someone in the room with him, "You just have to be patient; the doctor said he'd be out soon…"

There were several more unintelligible barks and Mary had to press her finger into her ear, had to center her thoughts so she could get some more information out of Marshall.

"Is Brandi there?" she immediately went with the first thing on her mind before proceeding to the condition of her niece.

"Yes…"

"She is?" Mary couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice, but quickly transitioned on to more important matters. "Is Holly all right?"

"For now," Marshall assured her. "And I think she will be; it's more a question of whether or not this is turning into an ongoing thing or not."

Mary knew what he meant – lifelong seizures, like epilepsy. Holly was so young; epilepsy was certainly treatable, her aunt knew that much, but to deal with it even before kindergarten? Brandi would be flummoxed by all the medications and precautions.

It suddenly occurred to Mary who might be doing all the yelling on the other end of the phone.

"Who is Brandi shouting at?" she wanted to know.

"Rachel," her partner sighed under his breath. "Listen, if it's okay with Stan and you don't have too much to do, you think you could come down here? I tried Jinx, but if she's teaching a class her phone's going to be off."

Mary didn't need to think twice, "It's a ghost town here; I can be there in twenty minutes," Stan was already nodding his approval from everything he'd gleaned on his end of the conversation.

"Okay…" Marshall accepted her readiness to the challenge. "I'll see you soon. Holly really is fine," he promised, in case Mary had been in doubt. "Actually, she was showing fair signs of improvement before this happened; I think that's probably what has Brandi bent out of shape…"

"You can fill me in when I get there," she insisted, choosing not to listen to why Brandi's theatrics were acceptable. "See you later."

"Bye."

And as Mary tossed her cell into her tote still sitting half open on the floor of the Sunshine Building, she couldn't help wondering with all these hindrances how Brandi, faults and all, hadn't had a seizure of her own yet.

XXX

**A/N: If you're reading Jayne Leigh's, "Different Road, Same Journey" you would think the two of us were playing copycat LOL! But, I swear we are not! I wrote this chapter eons ago and Jayne certainly hadn't read my story before writing hers! We are simply of one mind! I just needed something to give Holly a little jolt of drama and I read that bacterial meningitis can cause complications with seizures. Hopefully mine and Jayne's stories divert from here on out LOL!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed the Stan stuff! When I got to that chapter, it occurred to me that I hadn't written anything with Stan yet for this story, and I knew that couldn't continue. Gotta have Stan!**

**And, this chapter is where I worry that I have taken Brandi's selfishness way too far. I really like Brandi, and so it was difficult for me to write a story where she was so self-involved. She was always self-involved on the show too, but it came with good intentions and rarely with any true nastiness. I took it to a new level here and hope it is still in character, but you never know…**

XXX

Mary had expected – or rather, she'd hoped – that by the time she made it to the hospital that things would've mellowed out considerably. Even if Brandi and Rachel hadn't come to terms, she could deduce that they were both adults; after the initial shock of Holly's having a seizure wore off, they would stop their juvenile bickering.

Therefore, she was both stunned and disappointed to see the pair of them still going at it when she arrived back in the pediatric waiting room. The space had changed since Mary's last visit; a few straggling candy stripers were beginning to decorate it for the holidays. With Christmas being twelve days away, like in the song, maybe they figured it was time for a little festivity. Most of their spangles consisted of child-made artwork; Santa faces and reindeers drawn on paper plates, and the like. The hospital worker in question was hanging the masterpieces near the reception desk, clearly trying not to listen to the brawl going on between Brandi and Rachel.

Peter was nowhere in sight, but Marshall was stationed between the two women like a sound barrier, perhaps hoping his mere presence could make them cool off. It didn't appear to be having much effect.

"You can't tell me what to do, _Rachel_!" Brandi mocked her name with emphasis. "Peter is my husband; he doesn't need a baby-sitter! You can just stay away from my daughter too!"

"I only stay away from Holly when Peter tells me to," Rachel rebutted snootily, sneering at Brandi from behind Marshall's back. "Some addled-minded twit like you isn't going to keep me from her."

This was where Mary made her presence known. It was the old, 'nobody picks on my brother but me' mentality that had her striding into the fray. A train wreck Brandi might be, but Mary was the only one who was allowed to tell her so. Rachel didn't have any business inserting herself with that sort of name-calling.

"Hey!" the older sister called, causing all three parties to turn at the sound, but she made it perfectly clear it was Rachel's comment that had caused her to get involved. "If you're starting World War Three in here, it's Marshall and I who have got the guns and we take family into the foxhole first."

Loyally, Mary slung her arm around Brandi's shoulder, but also expertly pulled her away from the action. Rachel looked as though she'd been slapped in the face and was plainly ready to mount her horse again, but dropped into a nearby chair and settled for frowning instead.

"Hi…" Marshall greeted his wife once he was granted a breather, sweeping inward to place a quick kiss on her cheek. Mary was unable to return the favor, still tending to a maudlin, blubbering Brandi, whose eyes were probably growing rather stingy with all the crying she'd been doing. "Glad you're here," Marshall concluded with a meaningful glance to his sister-in-law.

"Looks like I made it just in time," Mary boasted, tickling her fingers up and down Brandi's back. "Not so skilled at putting out the fire are we, partner?" teasing lightly.

Marshall took the joke well, "I am a man who cannot overpower the amount of estrogen in this room."

Mary had hoped Brandi would pick up on their byplay and maybe leave Rachel in the rearview, but she was still weeping in full, in no position to get a grip. While the taller of the two women wanted to know what exactly had happened to Holly, this would likely only produce more tears, and surely Brandi was running out at this point.

She wasn't entirely devoid of speech, however, and gulped before starting in on her tirade, "I don't want her here. I want her the hell back where she came from," Brandi said fiercely. "She doesn't know Peter the way I do; she doesn't need to butt herself into our marriage and Holly doesn't need an aunt like her…"

Assuming Brandi was talking about Rachel, Mary figured the sister from Raton had finally witnessed the Alperts in the throes of an argument. Judging by how she'd viewed Peter as some feeble drunk, it was clear she couldn't have approved of Brandi going after the man, and probably unreasonably as well.

"She spoils everything; she was the same way when Peter and I drove out to visit her a couple years ago. And Peter was so upset when she missed our wedding; if she thinks she can just worm her way into our lives…well, she can't…" this was getting fragmented. "She can't; she just can't…"

Marshall joined in the consoling, patting Brandi's hair while Mary kept her arm easily around her shoulder, no more or less than that. He was certain she was fixating on Rachel to avoid brooding over Holly; it was simpler to have a spat than it was to imagine the possibilities in store for the little girl.

"Well, she may be trying to protect Peter," Marshall suggested, but was careful not to stay there too long. "She sees him in pain; it's a natural reaction…" When Brandi gave a shuddering sob, he got off that subject completely. "I'm sure this will all blow over. Peter will be out soon; once they stabilize Holly and give him some answers…"

"What happened?" Mary directed the question to her sister now that Marshall had broached the topic. "Were you there when she had the seizure, or…?"

Brandi nodded, "Peter and I were both there. It was so horrible; she seemed to be doing so much better…"

Mary remembered Marshall having stated this on the phone, that Holly had shown signs of advancement before the convulsions, but she also knew that seizures ranged far and wide. It was possible Holly hadn't even lost consciousness or done anything particularly alarming. Still, a scare was a scare.

"She was actually sitting up and talking a little bit, and then all of a sudden nothing – nothing but this blank stare, like she didn't even know who I was or who Peter was…" a second cascade of tears spilled all down her front with the recount of events, but both inspectors were tolerant in waiting for her to go on. "Her eyes started fluttering and she twitched like someone had given her this electric shock…" at this point it became difficult to understand her, but she finished anyway. "Peter ran to get the doctor, and for a second it was like she slipped back in – she heard me when I called her name – but then the same thing happened again! Who knows how many more seizures she had since I left?"

Quite a series of events, both Mary and Marshall kept quiet for a moment while Brandi gathered herself. To Mary, the spasms Holly had experienced did indeed sound startling, but they also sounded like they could've been much worse. When she pictured seizures, she pictured the ones including violent jolting, with frothing at the mouth and even passing out. From what Marshall had said on the phone, those were 'grand-mal seizures' and Holly seemed to have been through something far less traumatic. They could count their blessings for that.

And Marshall, super-mind that he was, had heartening information to share with the weeper, "I'm sure it was ghastly to see her that way Brandi, but it actually sounds like it was fairly minor," always a ray of optimism. "There are dozens of different kinds of seizures, and Holly's comes across as very minimal. I wouldn't be surprised if she suffers no lasting damage from that…"

"But, what if she starts having them all the time now?" Brandi countered with her dark rain cloud. "They told us that could happen – that it could be something she'll live with forever."

"Well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Marshall commented. "But, even if that's the case, there are medications that can treat continual seizures and keep them in check perfectly well…"

"Squish, you'll just have to wait it out," Mary chimed in. "I know it sucks; I'm sure you're sick of this place…" this was better said to Peter, who had been at the hospital a lot more, but she was willing to sweep it under the rug. "But, Holly's where she needs to be."

"Oh yeah?" Brandi turned her blazing face to her big sister, looking suddenly angry as well as miserable. "Is that what you were saying when the twins were stuck in the NICU?"

Utterly bewildered by being blamed for trying to be lucid, Mary didn't know what to say, "I…what?" she stuttered, glancing swiftly to Marshall, who looked just as stumped as she did.

Nonetheless, Brandi didn't let up; willing to make a fool of herself in front of everyone – Rachel, Peter, Marshall, and now Mary. The list went on and on.

"Were you being all noble then and telling everyone that was where they needed to be? Because that's not what I remember; I remember you threatening to strangle those nurses if they didn't let you take them home, so don't sit here and act like you know what I'm going through."

"Squish…what the hell?" in spite of the cursing, Mary didn't sound mad; she came off submissive and bemused. "I never said I knew what this was like, I was just saying…"

"Holly needs to be at _home_!" the shorter burst furiously, shaking herself free of Mary's grip. "She does not need to be here with these strangers who don't know her! She needs to be at home where Peter can take care of her!"

There was a chance the blunder in wording was made because Brandi was off the rails, but Mary couldn't help noting that her sister didn't include herself when she spoke about tending to her daughter.

"I…fine…" Mary had no idea what the correct response would be. "I mean, I can see where you'd want her at home and not here; nobody wants to be here. I'm just saying, she isn't going to magically recover and the doctors are the ones who can help her…"

"I know that!" Brandi declared, still coming off horribly shrill. "You think that just because of what happened to you with…" pursed lips accompanied this unfinished statement, while Mary had not a clue where it was headed. Skipping ahead, "…You think you know how I feel, but you don't! You don't at all!"

"I didn't say I did!" now Mary was getting annoyed, and Marshall looked like he wanted to step in. "Why would I? Yeah, my kids were in the hospital but it was different! Where is this coming from? It is not my fault you and Peter can't get along and that you're making this a thousand times worse by being so petty and childish!"

Marshall moaned hearing Mary unable to keep her frustration in check, but she'd never been very patient when it came to Brandi. Although, Mary was his wife and it was hard to fault her for going on the defensive; Brandi's attack had come out of nowhere while Mary had been trying to assist. You couldn't expect her to sit idly by after something like that.

"I am so tired of your superiority!" Brandi hollered, causing the hospital decorator to look their direction again.

"Would you quit making such a scene?" Mary hissed desperately. "Jesus, you have got to get a hold of yourself…"

"Listen," Marshall interjected firmly, raising his hands between the two women just as he'd done with Rachel and Brandi minutes before. "I don't know how long Peter's going to be, and obviously there are emotions running high here…"

Before Brandi could trash her brother-in-law as well, Peter himself emerged, like Marshall had summoned him there just by mentioning his name. All four individuals forgot their aggravations and hurried to meet him; Mary immediately felt badly that she'd rushed along with the crowd, because Peter looked extremely overwhelmed by having to answer them all at once. She made a mental note that, if she had time later, she'd run back by his house and get him some more clothes. His dirty jacket was starting to smell.

"Peter, what's going on?" Rachel commanded authoritatively, like she was giving a test.

Pretending she wasn't there, Brandi elbowed her way in, "I need to know that Holly is okay. She's okay. She _has_ to be okay," she made it sound as though Peter was the one with this power, as if he could instantly cure his child. If that were true, they wouldn't be here.

It was Marshall who ended up being the voice of reason, "Let's give him some room to breathe," he proposed coolly, and Rachel quickly scuttled backward, treading on Mary's foot.

However, the second they heeded Marshall's advice, Brandi flew to the front of the pack, nearly shaking Peter by the shoulders. Mary would concede that his muteness was disconcerting, but he was probably just trying to get his bearings. He had to be running on zero fuel.

"Peter, tell me what is going on with our daughter!" Brandi cried histrionically, reminding Mary of someone in a soap opera; she understood the tension in the situation, but began to wish more fervently by the second that her sister would calm down. "Did she have another seizure? Is she even awake?"

"She…she's awake…" Peter managed, seeing that he wouldn't be able to stay mum anymore. "She's actually – she is okay. I don't think she even knows what happened."

"That's good," Marshall put forth, trying once again to radiate some form of brightness, but Mary was pretty sure she was the only one who heard him.

"I…I'm not sure what happens next; the doctors are running a few tests…"

"Not more tests!" Brandi wailed, and this time Mary would not hold her tongue.

"Shh! Listen."

"They're um…non-invasive tests…no…no needles or anything," Peter reported, his phrases a little disorderly but articulate all the same. "They want to figure out the probability of her having another seizure because they really wanted to get her tibia operated on by tomorrow…"

"They didn't even tell us that!" Brandi accused wildly. "They never said anything about her leg! Why do they want to do the surgery now? Is something wrong?"

"Brandi, I don't…I don't know…" Mary could see that he was starting to wear thin what with his wife demanding specifics left, right, and center. "We've known from the beginning that the doctors weren't comfortable leaving her leg in the splint for an extended period of time; it just sounds like they want to get in there as soon as possible, but if she's prone to seizures I don't know if they can…"

"Prone to seizures?" Rachel repeated. "Is she going to start having them periodically?"

"I have no idea," the man addressed his sister. "I think that's part of why they're doing the tests."

A profound hush followed this statement, everyone in the vicinity allowing the possibility to sink in. Mary could tell by Peter's face that he was anticipating the worst; an epileptic Holly would be a very tall order indeed, but better that than some kind of severe brain abnormality. She knew it was easier to view seizures as child's play when it wasn't her child, and did her best to remember this before opening her mouth. Who knew bacterial meningitis could wreak such permanent havoc?

Mary would've gladly accepted the quiet if it meant they could all process the impending incidents, but apparently Brandi could not contain herself. Instead of surrendering to tearful worry or even bucking up and hoping for the best, she went with the most unattractive reaction – fury and denial.

"This cannot be happening!" and she whirled away from Peter and began pacing all by herself. "I will not let it happen! We cannot deal with a kid who has fits all the time! We don't know the first thing about treating her!"

"Hon, there's nothing we can do…" Peter moped, like it was taking all of his vigor just to keep from shedding tears of his own. "It's not as if this is insurmountable; there are far worse things that could've come to pass…"

"Worse? _Worse_?" the woman bellowed with her trademark hysteria. "How could this _get_ any worse? Holly is dying and I'm supposed to be fine with that?"

"She is _not_ dying!" now Peter was fired up, and Rachel instinctively moved to his side. "And I really wish you would quit acting like it! She's scared enough as it is!"

"So now it's my fault my daughter's in the hospital?"

"No! It's nobody's fault!" Peter insisted boldly. "But, she wants you _here_ – that is _all_ she wants and you can't even manage that! I am sick of making excuses for where you've gone when she asks for you day in and out! And when you are here all you do is prepare her for the sky falling!"

Brandi glowered, looking incensed, "So, now the truth comes out. I'm no good for Holly; I'm a complete waste as a mother."

Peter had said nothing of the sort, and looked as though he wanted to correct her, but he was probably tired of doing that. Brandi was an expert at putting words in people's mouths, which tended to be the basis for most of her and Peter's fights. Now that he'd lashed back at her, she was taking the bait and running with it.

"If you think you can do a better job being Holly's mom then be my guest! Hell, I only had one parent around when I was growing up and it didn't ruin me at all!" there was definite sarcasm in the last portion. "You want to give it a try – don't let me stop you!"

And without waiting for Peter to try and smooth things over, Brandi turned and stomped off the floor, taking the elevator without looking back. Marshall was the one who moved to follow her, to leave Peter with Rachel and Mary, but the elder sister knew it was her sworn duty as the firstborn to be the one to knock some sense into Brandi. She could be obstinate and still hold compassion; it was not impossible. She did it with her witnesses all the time; Brandi wasn't so different.

"I'll go," she informed Marshall, placing a hand on his forearm to halt his stroll. "Let me see what I can do."

He appeared tentative, but willing, "If you're sure," he sanctioned. "I'll stay and see if I can weed a few more things out of Peter – and keep Rachel from bad-mouthing Brandi."

"Good luck with that," she wished him. "I'll track her down and get her back on a more even plane. I can play nice when I want to."

"Don't I know it," Marshall grinned and accepted the kiss she left on his temple. "See you in a bit."

"See you."

Trusting Marshall to alter Rachel's personality to something kinder while simultaneously helping Peter to become more centered, Mary left them in his very capable hands, knowing she was going to have to wait for the elevator to come back up due to Brandi's huffy departure.

She rode down alone, feeling safe presuming that Brandi had made a beeline for the lobby, perhaps to leave the hospital all together. The journey was slow, each little lighted number going by at the pace of a turtle. You'd think in an emergency facility that the contraption might move a little faster; after all, people in the hospital had places they needed to be.

Mary was resigned to the fact that Brandi might have disappeared completely once she reached the ground floor, knowing the kind of head start she'd had. But, with a stroke of good fortune, the taller spotted her shuffling across the linoleum toward the double doors leading to the parking lot. The foyer was more vast and open than the waiting room upstairs, and it was also virtually empty but for one person working the front desk.

"Brandi!" Mary called, not wanting to make a spectacle of herself but knowing it was essential she reach her before she was able to get away. Picking up the pace of her walk, "Hey! Squish!"

The familiar nickname was what made her turn around, but it was with nothing resembling relief. She made a derisive mocking sound and kept right on walking, like Mary was the last person she wanted to see.

Fortunately for the older of the two, she had longer legs and her training as a US Marshal to fall back on. She caught up with Brandi in no time, grabbing her by the elbow to stop her from going any further.

"Let go of me!" Brandi tried to jerk free, but Mary was too strong for her, and when she wiggled all over she was able to catch her other arm, yanking her around so they were face-to-face. "What do you want?!"

Mary tightened her grip, "Brandi, would you just slow down for a minute?" she requested. "I just want to talk to you! You act like I'm gonna march you off to the gallows!"

"I am not talking to you!" still struggling. "I know exactly what you're going to say! You don't need to tell me!"

"What am I gonna say?" Mary wondered, pure curiosity getting the better of her.

"That I'm a piece of shit mom that deserves everything she's getting!" Brandi decided ruefully, practically spitting in her sister's face. "Sound about right?"

Stung by the fact that Brandi thought she could be so outwardly insulting in these tumultuous times, Mary did loosen her hold, but not enough that the other woman could escape. Thinking hard before she worked out what to say, she tried to channel her inner Marshall – she tried to be indulgent, even sweet, despite how much ill-will she might feel toward Brandi underneath.

"I don't think anybody deserves this," she landed on, which was one of the more truthful responses she could give. "And I definitely wouldn't say that about you."

"Yeah," Brandi scoffed disbelievingly. "This from the woman who said I was 'retarded' just because I brought our brother to town!"

This was so out of left field that Mary couldn't stop herself, "What?! Where did you pull _that_ from?" her eyes even bugged, she was so perplexed. "Honestly Squish; you are so off-the-wall these days I don't even know what to make of half the stuff you say! So I called you something classless a thousand years ago – what does that have to with Holly?"

"It has everything to do with Holly!" she snarled, sparring with Mary now, just as she'd sparred with Peter and Rachel.

"How?!"

"Because no matter what I do, you always think it's stupid! You always think I'm wrong, and now I'm sure you think it's my fault that Holly broke her leg and got sick and had two seizures!"

"Brandi, for Christ's sake!" Mary threw up her hands, wishing they could have this out in their own home and not in the entryway of the hospital where any old gawker could just walk by and see them. The receptionist was busy on the phone, but she wouldn't be forever. "You're not God! Do you really think I'm so set on blaming you that I'd hold you responsible for something you have no control over?"

"It's been this way since Holly was born!" the rant went right on, as if Brandi hadn't heard a word Mary had said. "Always thinking you're the better mother – always thinking you can do what I can't!"

"When did I say that?" Mary was striving for some sort of clarity, some kind of steady ground to stand on; anything concrete to put Brandi back in the right frame of mind. "Tell me. When did I say that? When did I say that I'm a better mom than you are?"

This did shut Brandi up, if only for a moment. Mary could practically see the spokes spinning round and round in her head, attempting to recall any time when her older sister had been contemptuous of Brandi's parenting on the surface. The signs – the signals and gestures – were all there, but the words? Brandi couldn't come up with that.

"Look Squish…" she let out a deep breath, capturing the silence while she could. "I'm not gonna lie; I know I act like a stuck-up snob sometimes when it comes to the kids, okay? I wanted kids more than anything and just because you're not manic-obsessive about Holly like I am about Ben and Lizzie doesn't make you a bad mom…"

"Yeah, right…" the shorter regained her poise in a hurry. "How many times have you told me to shape up? How many times have you insinuated both to me _and_ to Holly that I'm not cutting it?"

Leaving Holly out of it, Mary did her best to explain what she meant by that attitude, "I just think that this isn't your best," she was insistent, but neutral, the opinion said without malice. "I think that your best is better than what you're doing. Brandi, you are smart and you're capable and I know that you love Holly, but I also think you aren't giving this your all…"

"I have other things that deserve my 'all,' Mare!"

Abandoning the façade, "She's your _daughter_! I don't give a damn what you are knotted up in; she should be your first priority!"

"She is!"

"That's not what you just told me!"

"She can still be my first priority even if I have other things going on!"

At this, Mary wanted to shake Brandi so hard that she had to fight not to lay a hand on her. How could she be so impossibly infuriating? She sometimes made Mary think she was completely beyond help; that neither empathy nor ultimatums could make her see what a grave mistake she was making in kicking Holly to the curb.

Rather than start manhandling the younger, Mary leaned in, a desperate thirst for knowledge clouding her usually skillful execution when it came to wheedling secrets out of individuals.

"Whoever you are fooling around with in order to get money to make up the difference at the Autoplex…" she knew the answer lay somewhere in that sordid story. "It needs to end," her most dangerous voice cut like ice through Brandi's defiant stare. "I can guarantee that you don't know what you're doing and it is not gonna be at my expense or Peter's if you screw it up."

Scenes of Chuck and Spanky and a gloomy basement that smelled of blood and gun power flashed through Mary's subconscious, but she clamped down hard on those emotions in order to make Brandi see where she was coming from.

"If you are sleeping with some bookie…"

"I would _never_ cheat on Peter!" Brandi found her voice.

"You cannot be more selfish than this! You don't want to find out what it feels like to have your child die right under your nose and know that you could've done more to stop it!"

This admission, this confession of sorts, came from nowhere – or from somewhere deep inside Mary, in a crevice she never touched because the pain was too raw when she brought it out and feasted on it so many years down the road. But, if she had to bathe in it, had to recall the blinding ache in her midsection, the blood on the floor and that horrible sonogram with no blinking white light, just to get Brandi back on track, she would do it.

But, to her utter horror, her sister took the earnest nature of the warning and turned it completely upside-down.

"You think this is the same? You think losing some fetus is _really_ the same as _my_ daughter getting only three years on earth before she's taken from us!" the coldness, the need to hurt, to injure was palpable. "That Jamie of yours wasn't even a real baby."

"You shut up!" Mary's hands were trembling. "You shut up or I'll shut you up, got it?!"

"If it hadn't been for _one_ sonogram on that kid you never would've had Ben and Lizzie – half the time I think you just got pregnant to make yourself feel better! So you wouldn't feel so guilty for losing the first kid! How do I know that wasn't your fault, huh?"

And now Mary just stood there, fighting not the urge to throttle Brandi around the neck, but the compulsion to lose her marbles and succumb to the mourning she hadn't felt in a very long time.

"If you can blame me for everything, I can blame you for everything too, Mary! Everyone knows you didn't even want Jamie to begin with – and he probably would've been able to tell if he'd made it!"

The cruelty was suffocating; Mary's knees went weak before Brandi delivered the final blow.

"Kids can tell when nobody wants them – I could and so could you!"

James?

"And Holly can tell too! And that's probably why she likes Marshall and doesn't have the patience for you."

Satisfied, Brandi pushed her way through the double doors waiting just ahead, leaving Mary in a kind of fog in her wake. All the mystery surrounding her sister, all the egoism she'd operated under; it all faded to make way for the crunching, overpowering pierce she felt deep in her gut. She felt sick; sicker than she had when she'd been pregnant, sicker than when she'd been told she had miscarried. The loss Jamie had left her with had long since tapered with time, but the idea that she'd been forced to remember she hadn't planned to keep him to begin with, that if not for him she would not be a mother; it was making her stomach churn in the worst possible way.

And as Mary sunk onto a nearby bench, pondering the absence of her first baby boy, the lack of warmth from her niece and Brandi's complete inability to sympathize or grow up, she realized they had reached an impasse. The changing of the guard had taken place. Whatever was wrong with Brandi was serious and it was real.

Who would have thought forty-plus-years down the road that she would be the one hurling hateful insults and Mary would be the one reduced to tears, not even bothering to hide them from whatever unfortunate bystander happened to wander into her midst?

XXX

**A/N: Ack! Brandi! Again, I worry I've taken her too far, but what's done is done! Hope you guys are enjoying this!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: At least nobody thought Brandi was too out-of-character! I worry about that with every character when I write fan-fiction! If anybody thinks I stink, at least they don't tell me. ;) **

XXX

Mary could not be certain of how long she sat on the bench outside the vestibule, nor how many people wandered awkwardly past while her head drooped, skull in her hands. It was a dramatic pose; she registered that much, like someone might be painting her in a particularly dismal position – the artist hoping to convey sorrow and suffering. She shifted every now and then when she heard footsteps approaching, but even embarrassment couldn't save her from the gnawing dread in her stomach. Underneath it all, Mary figured that she and Brandi must not have been in the main lobby; otherwise, the area would've been much more crowded.

It was the non-nosy receptionist that finally penetrated Mary's wall. There was no telling how many minutes she'd sat stationary watching her brood. Indeed, it was hard to pin down if she'd heard the battle waging between the two sisters before Brandi had stormed out. The hand on her shoulder made Mary jump, and the unfamiliar face swimming above her own was disorienting.

"Excuse me, ma'am…" this was a well-seasoned desk attendant, used to patrons spreading their melancholy everywhere. "Is there anything I can do for you? Someplace I can direct you or a ward I can page? It's no trouble at all…"

"Oh…I…no," Mary shook her head, cursing herself for sounding so infantile. "No, I just…" humiliation took over quickly once she allowed her gaze to fall upon the bright fluorescent lights behind her hands. "Sorry."

"It's nothing," the woman insisted. "If you need directions to the ground floor waiting room, I'm happy to pass them along. This is really just the entrance to the parking garage."

She gestured around to indicate the empty, cavernous locale, confirming Mary's conjecture about the space not being fit for lounging around. Once she allowed her eyes to adjust, she realized that the doors Brandi had shimmied out of did in fact lead to the car complex. It was dark beyond and Mary could see the twisting cement which led to the vehicles stationed on the upper levels.

"Are you sure I can't help you with anything?" trying again. "I know that sometimes these signs are like a foreign language…"

But, she had to know Mary wasn't lost, merely beleaguered. Regardless, further discussion was not needed when the elevator dinged from across the floor and a long, lanky man stepped out, looking somewhat frantically in several directions before he spotted the person he was searching for.

Mary was able to send up a fake smile at his presence, "That's my husband…" indicating everything was fine now. "I'm sure he can take it from here. Thanks."

"All right…" the attendant knew when to leave well enough alone and gave a half-hearted wave before returning to her post.

Mary, meanwhile, hadn't made any move to even stand up, unsure how she might appear to Marshall, and trying to figure out what on earth she was going to tell him about everything Brandi had said. It still made her feel ill just to think about it; recounting the accusations was going to be tricky business. She knew her cheeks were sticky from tearstains, despising herself for having succumbed to weakness like that. She was supposed to be the bully, not Brandi.

"Hey…" Marshall jogged in breathlessly; looking reassured that there was no one around to bother them. "Where'd you go? I thought you and Brandi would be back up…"

He stopped the minute he glimpsed even the smallest sliver of Mary's face. She'd been trying to mop up her eyes without him noticing, perhaps shift into the shadows so he wouldn't see the after-effects of her having wept, but it was no use. He was a man of great intellect and deduction; rarely could she hide things from Marshall.

"What's the matter?" he pressed at once, turning gentle and concerned on the spot. "You've been crying. What's going on?"

"Nothing…never mind…" Mary batted back weakly, scooting away from him once he sat down. "Forget it."

He did forget it, but only momentarily, "Where's Brandi?"

"She left."

And in an instant he was back in the game, "What did she say to you?"

This was not a question designed for Marshall to find out the root of Brandi's tantrums, but to uncover what had caused Mary to start sobbing, however delicately, in a public place. Mary couldn't say for sure how she knew what his motivation was, but know she did. He had no interest in his sister-in-law's melodrama. His eyes were for Mary.

But, she was not a woman who gave up her hand so easily, "What?" she tried to eke out a scoff. "Nothing. She's gone. She didn't say…"

But, Marshall would have none of it. Startling Mary profusely, he took hold of her chin with his elegant fingers, halting her justifications midsentence, staring straight into her watery green eyes with his dazzling blue ones. They were all seriousness; his intuition told him something had gone awry.

And the way he so deliberately repeated the inquiry proved it.

"_What_ did she say to you?"

Whether Marshall had a sixth sense, it was unclear, but the way he struck each word so forcefully, almost eerily, was enough to convince Mary she could not cloak her emotions any longer. Again, however, she was grabbed by the idea that this conversation would be much better suited to their own living quarters, not a place in plain view of spectators.

"I…really…nothing, I just…" Mary sighed as she conceded defeat, trying to focus on getting the words out properly. "I tried…to make Brandi understand that she doesn't want to experience what it feels like to lose a child and take on the culpability…"

"Yes?"

"And…she went…" there was no flattering way to put this. "She went completely bat shit crazy on me, even though I swear I did not say it like I was trying to be offensive…"

"I believe you."

The rest was said in a rush so Mary could get it over with as soon as possible, "And she went off on this tangent – Jamie was just a fetus, I didn't want him anyway, kids don't like me, especially Holly. The end."

Even as casual as she tried to be about it, she couldn't help the quivering that came in the aftermath, and Marshall's woefully sympathetic features did not assist in keeping the tears at bay. He knew. He knew Brandi had hurt her feelings in the worst possible way, especially if she was unable to mask it.

Whatever pleas he usually offered in Brandi's defense were wiped clean off the slate, although Mary wasn't thinking about that right now. Mostly, she wanted to stop being such a pansy, wallowing because her little sister had figuratively beaten her to a pulp on the playground.

"Mary…" Marshall eventually let out a long exhale, extending his hand to brush the honey hair tumbling in his wife's face behind her ear. "I have…" surprised, she watched him pause, as though he was holding himself back from losing it; his jaw was rigid in frustration. "I have…no earthly idea what would possess her to say those things to you. There's no excuse for it."

She nodded slowly, glad to hear this. Jinx, at the very least, would've said something like, 'You know your sister is under a lot of stress' amidst a shower of apologies on Brandi's behalf. But, not Marshall. While he usually took up for Brandi, the woman had crossed a line that he would not follow her over. She was going into the swamp alone, while Mary got to keep her anchor on the shore, heavy but secure in her circle.

"She clearly does not understand about you and Jamie," he continued valiantly onward, ignoring the way Mary's lip began to vibrate when the subject of her unborn baby boy was brought into the open. "How she couldn't after all this time, I don't know. There may be differences in losing a living child and miscarrying a baby, but I assure you that I take your word for it that the pain is very real in both cases. Brandi should not have diminished that."

Owning her emotion, Mary reminded herself of Lizzie with the way her words warbled in trying to share with Marshall.

"I hate talking about Jamie…" the admission was shaky as she swiped furiously at her eyes. "I didn't used to, so much, but ever since the twins were born I just…" squeezing the lids shut now, uninterested in going completely to pieces. "I don't want to forget, but he's a part of my past that I like to keep to myself."

Marshall knew this, keeping silent so Mary wouldn't lose her train of thought.

"But, I would've talked to Brandi; I would've told her how horrible it made me feel, how I felt like it was all my fault whether it really was or not. I would have put aside how hard it is for me if it meant she would hunker down and start spending more time with Holly, but…"

Marshall began patting her hair, rubbing her scalp as she ran a finger under her nose, dribbles of tears trickling shamelessly down her cheeks. There was nothing eccentric about the episode, nothing distressing, yet it was still an odd feature on Mary. It reminded Marshall only too well of when she'd been so prone to episodes while pregnant – one of the most trying times in her life.

"But, she didn't want it. She doesn't want my help; she's just gonna keep imploding and there's nothing I can do."

While the cutting phrases of Brandi's had certainly been the catalyst for Mary losing her cool, Marshall knew that what his partner had just said was what had lived under the surface of Mary's anxiety. No matter how ludicrous she was being, Brandi was family and it gave the older sister an extreme sense of failure not to be able to fix what was wrong.

"Marshall, she's still my baby sister…" the controlled nature of her previous account fell away as the tears began to run faster and faster. "She is in trouble and I'm tired of worrying about her; nothing I do makes a difference…"

He pulled her in sideways, guiding her head into his chest where the droplets fell and created dampness on his shirt, but he paid it no mind.

"I know, Mare," he kept up his massage on her hair, hoping he was providing comfort. "It's exhausting, no two ways about it. But, there comes a time when Brandi has to take responsibility for herself, and it's sad that her inability to do so comes at Holly's expense…"

"I cannot let anything happen to Holly," she intoned, more forcefully than she'd said anything since Marshall had arrived. "To hell with Brandi. We have to make sure Holly stays safe – whether she likes me or not."

She could feel Marshall sigh by the rise and fall of his chest, "She likes you, partner; of course she likes you. I'm sure Brandi's feeling inferior and she's deflecting that onto you; I can't fathom what other reason she'd have for throwing that in your face."

Mary wasn't sure this was true, if only because of everything she'd discussed with Stan that morning, but was too soothed just by Marshall's touch to really bother with correcting him.

"I really don't know what to make of her behavior – Brandi's, that is," he soldiered on, giving Mary a moment to shake her suddenly delicate character. "I definitely think she's hiding something; I wasn't sure before. I really did chalk it up to stress due to her and Peter's marital discord, but it's gone beyond that now, especially if she's hurling those things about Jamie out into the open." Shaking his head above her, "She wouldn't do that unless she was on the defensive for some reason."

Once unable to right Marshall's line of thinking, Mary flipped on a dime hearing him try to formulate reasons for the insults about her unborn son. Unfortunately in this instance, he really was wrong.

"Yes, she would," she choked out muddily. "Don't you remember when she found out I'd been pregnant with Mark's baby?"

It seemed his memory was going to have to be refreshed – it had been over five years ago – and he loosened his hold to peer into her eyes. To Mary's relief, she'd managed to quit crying, which made her feel more in control all-around.

"Now that you mention it…" the details seemed to be clicking for the man. "I mean…that had slipped my subconscious, but…"

Mary finished for him, "She said that if I didn't care enough to tell Mark I was pregnant than I didn't deserve to have his child."

Mary would never forget those words, how they'd cut to the bone, how even Jinx had seemed appalled by Brandi's selfishness – an emotion she hardly ever displayed when it came to her youngest daughter. On top of the remarks about Mark and her undeserving qualities as a mother, Brandi had also declared that Mary had probably wanted to lose a baby rather than raise one.

She'd been so vulnerable then, so destroyed from experiencing the miscarriage, and still the littler Shannon could think of no one but herself – the cost to her friendship with Mark and her then-courtship with Peter. The longer she thought about it, the madder she got.

"Jesus…" the tears seemed to evaporate to make way for the rage. "I mean, really. Even _Mark_ wasn't as ticked off as she was."

Marshall clearly wasn't sure what to say to this and patted her hair while she wiped up under her eyelids. It felt good to experience fury again; she always dealt with Brandi no-holds-barred. She'd been foolish to think her sister would respond to anything else.

"Mary, I don't want to go and play the jealousy card – it's a cliché," Marshall elucidated vigilantly. "Lord knows I wasn't a fan of hearing it when I was growing up. I can't count how many times my mother told me that the boys at school bullied me because I was smart and they were 'jealous,'" his fingers formed air quotes around the word.

"But?" Mary prompted.

"But, there's maybe a case for it here," he shrugged half-heartedly. "It hardly justifies what Brandi said to you, but formulaic or not, it does fit. Why else would she continually bring up that you fancy yourself the greater mother? For that matter, why would she even put Jamie into the equation when you never talk about him? Well, except to the kids."

Overall, the blonde didn't mention Jamie to Ben and Lizzie ad nauseam, but they'd certainly been exposed to his one-time-existence, or even lack thereof. She and Marshall had always explained him in words they'd understand, because it was so important to the woman that he be a part of them, whether big or small. But otherwise, he was pretty much taboo in the Mann-Shannon household, and Marshall had always respected that.

"I don't care if she's jealous," Mary grumped, back on track after momentarily diverting the issue. "Honestly, I wouldn't even care if she was being a bitch so long as she was doing everything she could for Holly, but I guess that's out of my hands now…"

Admitting this was difficult, and it really wasn't true; in spite of realizing they were at a crossroads where Brandi was concerned, few things stopped Mary from interfering – however well-intentioned – in her sister's life. Her compulsion to protect never left her, even long after she'd worn out her welcome.

"You ever think about talking to Peter?" Marshall surprised her by seemingly reading her mind; he knew she wasn't giving up. "I can't explain why, but when Brandi came to me about the money thing at the Autoplex, she made it sound like Peter knew who she was consorting with and that he condemned her for it. Think he'd spill?"

"Wow…" Mary breathed, unable to believe this tactic hadn't crossed her mind before now. "I don't know…"

They'd mostly left Peter out of their personal mistrust in Brandi, figuring he was an unsuspecting passenger on a suddenly bumpy ride. Marshall had never wanted to overstep his bounds – Peter was family, but he wasn't blood, and something about that had stopped him and Mary from invading his privacy.

"I mean…I don't know if he'd tell us or not," she thought out loud as she went along. "If he even knows. In some ways, it seems pretty trivial given the mess with Holly. Us asking would probably just bug him."

"Mmm…don't be so sure," Marshall was crafty. "We could be cunning," raising his eyebrows with a smirk. "Don't forget our professions, inspector. A name could tell us a whole lot."

"I guess that's true…" Mary went along with it. "You know…" she thought back to the blowout she'd just had with Brandi and decided that, at this point, she couldn't sound too ridiculous in her husband's eyes. "I actually wondered if she was sleeping with someone on the side – Brandi. If she was having an affair."

Why this made her feel shame, she'd never know, but her cheeks reddened nonetheless. The other woman's past misdemeanors made sleeping around seem like a bee sting, but not to Peter because it was more personal. In fact, it wasn't even shocking to think Brandi would do it – if she'd had things her way, she would've done the same with Raph when he was dating Mary.

What also wasn't stunning was that Marshall hadn't already considered this angle.

"I thought of that too," he sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees in contemplation. "It would certainly explain the tension between them. Did you happen to spout this premise at Brandi?" now he looked almost amused.

"She denied it," Mary waved this away of little importance. "And I don't know why, but I believed her when she shouted that she'd never cheat on Peter – I guess because she seemed horrified that I'd think that. Don't take my word for it, though…"

"No, I do actually," Marshall rebutted loyally. "You're an excellent judge of character. I have nothing but conviction in your instincts."

A smile escaped at this – a wobbly one – but a smile even so. The best part for Mary, however, was that the motion caused Marshall to grin back at her. He liked seeing her level her footing again; a Mary who was too traumatized was a Mary he feared, even when he knew everyone had to shed their armor once in awhile.

"Thanks," she whispered. "You know…I don't think I've told you lately…" now seemed as good a time as any. "But…I love you."

Knowing exactly why she hadn't bequeathed that particular line at him in recent times – because they used to have a pretty hard time saying it – he scooped her long fingers into his and brought them to his lips. The tingling sensation Mary still got from his touch was as intoxicating as it had been when he laid a kiss on her head during a rainstorm in her darkened home, when she'd torn off her shell in the most dramatic way.

"I love you too," he reciprocated simply. "I'm sorry about Brandi. I know that she must've hurt you with those kinds of allegations. Sadly, I think she was trying to."

"Yeah…" Mary nodded sedately, hoping he wouldn't let go of her hand anytime soon. "I think she was too. It beats me as to why, but she is pissed as hell or in a whole crap load of trouble, and she wanted to take it out on me. It's not like I haven't done the same to her anyway."

"Yes…" Marshall conceded, but took care to gaze more intently into her eyes, to make her see where he was going. "But, the difference is that you've grown – you're far more tactful than you used to be. You make an effort not to injure with sarcasm."

"Sure…" she snorted, but she'd take the accolade. "And what about Brandi?"

"Well…she would appear to be stuck," he concluded. "I too wish she could mature and move on, but the rut she's in is a deep one. When you've come to rely on other people to race to your beck and call, it is complex trying to crawl out on your own."

The phrase, 'race to your beck and call' hammered something into Mary – something she wrung her hands over from time-to-time. Dissecting the twins' personalities earlier that day with Stan just made it easier to fret, especially after Marshall started talking about those of more confidence coming to the rescue.

"You know, I…" taking pause, she accidentally slipped her hand out of Marshall's to clasp her knuckles under her chin, a usual stance of hers when she became contemplative. "I sometimes wonder if Ben and Lizzie will end up like me and Brandi – that Lizzie will get so used to Ben rushing to her aide that she won't know how to take care of herself."

Mary worried even more heartily that this view of her daughter was far too negative; Lizzie wasn't weak or incapable, but she certainly did enjoy the refuge consistently provided by her brother. He pacified her; whenever her fears began to multiply, he reminded her that the world was only as big as she allowed it to be. He could close it safely around her with a few imaginative idioms about invisibility and flying and other endless superpowers.

"Mmm…I don't think so," Marshall said in response to her profession. "No offense meant to Jinx, but Lizzie has a mother who will teach her the importance of independence – and a father who will show her it's still okay to lean on others when you need it," a gentlemanly wink.

And she couldn't help but smirk, thinking in the back of her mind that in spite of having her feelings crushed, Jamie belittled, her niece in peril and her sister off-the-wall, she was still one of the luckiest women in the world. Billowing her lips against Marshall's, tasting and breathing him in – deeply, so he filled her every pore and her every soul – she knew she wouldn't believe such predications from anyone but him. It was what made him so special – so vastly unique.

"Wise guy, huh?" Mary mused mischievously.

"Damn straight…" he shot back. "We're two peas in a pod – wise and sly. I wouldn't marry a girl who was anything less."

XXX

**A/N: Marshall's there for his girl…always. Again, Mary being fragile when it comes to Jamie is hopefully not outside the realm of possibilities. Anyone who read "Empty Arms" knows what I had it do to her. **


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: You guys are so close to getting me to 100 reviews! I cannot thank you enough! This chapter is a bit long, but hopefully realistic without being too "forced."**

XXX

Mary couldn't remember a time before this perpetually unending Monday that she'd longed for a quiet night at home with the twins more. Although their 'quiet' nights were pretty subjective, what with Ben always bouncing off the walls, they usually got there in the end. Still feeling burned from Brandi's heartless comments, Mary wanted to forget their altercation as much as possible, though it wasn't easy to get it off her mind. She knew Marshall picked up on how distracted she was throughout the evening, but the kids were fairly oblivious, which was the way she liked it.

The best part of the evening always came once Ben and Lizzie were finally ready for bed, after they had-had their dinner and enjoyed a few television shows, or else worn themselves out playing games. Although every evening consisted of moaning and groaning, repetitive mantras of, 'I'm not tired!' they typically went without too many complaints, even Ben. They both enjoyed story time too much to argue too heartily.

The routine was always the same; both twins would huddle like pitas in a pocket on Lizzie's bunk, their heads cast in shadow from the upper loft, squeezed together just as Mary had always imagined they must've been in the womb. Such a concept snuck up on her sometimes – that the pair of them had once co-existed in the same tiny shared space, harboring against the outside world, depending upon a mother hen to deliver them into existence without incident.

Tonight, it pummeled Mary over the head a little harder as she remembered Brandi's accusations about why she'd had children to begin with – out of guilt, to right a wrong, and for no other reason. Sitting almost back-to-back with Marshall on the end of the bed because it was the only way they fit, she couldn't help wondering what story the kids would ask for this evening – whether from a book or from the heart.

"You all snuggled in there my soldiers?" the father asked, digging his fingers into their covered bellies and tickling, making them squeal with laughter, which Mary only heard in the recesses of her mind. "The warden keeps an eye out for trespassers you know!"

This meant no sneaking out, no bargaining for glasses of water or one more trip to the bathroom. And everyone in the house knew that 'the warden' was not Marshall, but Mary.

"Daddy! Daddy, quit it!" Lizzie squealed mirthlessly when he wouldn't stop his tickling. "I won't escape – I promise!"

"I'll hold you to it, Lizzie Lou," Marshall declared mock-seriously, raising one eyebrow at his daughter. "One false move…"

"They won't see me sneak out…" Ben cut in pretentiously, his nose in the air. "I'll be invisible, and then when they least expect it…" lowering his voice dramatically. "BOOM! I'll pop up and scare you all and you won't even know where it came from! Mwhahahaha!" his best cackling laugh.

"You would make a good private eye," Marshall told him thoughtfully. "Skulking around in a trench coat in dark alleys…"

"The bad guys would never catch me!" Ben shook his head, almost hitting Lizzie in the process but she only grinned, always feeling at her safest when her father, brother, and mother were right by her side. "I'd send 'em all to jail – just like you dad!"

Marshall gave a humble chuckle, "Well, not exactly like me, spark. Mom and I – we do our best, right partner?"

Mary knew he was talking to her, that he expected a response, especially when he nudged her with his elbow. But, with her eyes across the room, she didn't manage to expel anything other than a nod and an almost-mute, 'Mmm hmm.' She could practically feel him furrow his brow even if she couldn't see him, and she also knew she was walking a fine line if she didn't want the kids to pick up on her vacant attitude.

"Anyway…" Marshall was valiant in pretending nothing strange was happening. "I guess it's about time for a story, huh?" rubbing his hands together. "What are you guys thinking? You want to hear about me and my rugged younger days with Uncle Travis and Uncle Carson? I know Lizzie enjoys hearing about your harrowing entrance into the world – or we could recount the tale of Prince Tanner; that's one of my favorites…"

The mention of 'Prince Tanner' caught Mary's ear – the name was a decoy for a flowery-worded fairytale about Tripp, Billy, and Gretel, as Mary had wanted the kids to know about them just as much as she wanted them to know about Jamie. It was hard sometimes, having to mask some of the most important parts of her life from them with aliases and sugarcoated versions of the real thing. Part of that was because of WITSEC, the other part was because Mary was afraid her emotions would bubble over in front of Ben and Lizzie if she spoke about topics too close to the bone.

"Or…" Marshall was still chattering, given that the twins couldn't agree on a story. "We could let mom choose. She hasn't gotten to pick in awhile."

This finally reeled her back in completely, and she saw the kids' anxious, eager faces, as well as Marshall's puzzled one. Normally, she would've brushed off his offer, knowing Ben and Lizzie were the ones who really cared about the nighttime tales; she was willing to do whatever they wanted in spite of how many times she'd told a story.

"Well…I don't know…" she still hedged, but she did know; the images she'd been staring at across the room were the pictures plastered to the wall.

One in particular – a black and white, very splotchy one – had drawn her eyes since her and Marshall had first entered the room and tucked the kids in.

"Why don't I tell you guys the Belly Baby story? It's been a long time. That okay?"

Before they could give their approval, Marshall segued in with bemusement, "Really? You sure?" but he was aware of where her gaze had been plastered, not to mention where the notion had surfaced from.

"Yeah. I'm sure," she assured him. "What do you guys think?" scanning Ben and Lizzie for sanction.

Lizzie was agreeable, "Yeah! I like that one."

"Yeah, I guess…" Ben was less enthusiastic, but pleasant just the same.

At their word, Mary took a deep breath and felt it sweep through the room like a light breeze, flowing out through her chest to give her the strength she would need to get through this rationally. She always worried it would be too hard to narrate Jamie's journey to her living children, but at the conclusion it often felt cathartic. She hoped this was one of those times.

Before she started speaking, she felt Marshall lace his fingers through hers and this, more than anything else, helped her to begin.

"Well…about six years ago…" she took on a whispery, ethereal kind of tone, but nothing overly dramatic. "There was a baby that grew in my tummy – a baby before you two. This baby belonged to me and my friend Mark because it was before dad and I were married…"

Both kids giggled at the prospect that there had ever been a time when Mary and Marshall were not together. Mark was fairly hazy to them, and it never seemed to bother either one of them that their mother had once been attached to someone else. Mark had only seen them a handful of times; Ben seemed to remember him better than Lizzie, but barely.

"And, because I'd never had a baby in my tummy before, I was pretty nervous and so he was kind of like a secret. That's how he became my Belly Baby; my little secret…"

"But daddy knew about him!" Lizzie crowed, as if she had been the one to uncover the mystery of Jamie. "Daddy guessed all by himself!"

"I bet it wasn't so hard…" Ben butted in. "Did you get big and fat mom? Like all those other ladies when they have babies?"

"Not near as big and fat as she got when she was going to have you two!" Marshall poked each of their noses so Mary could avoid answering this question and they descended into giggles all over again.

"Anyway…" she picked up the thread once they quieted down. "I loved my Belly Baby just like I love you guys. He was very special to me. I had wonderful dreams about him learning to walk and teaching him to ride his bike…"

Mary wouldn't necessarily describe those dreams as 'wonderful' to anybody but the twins, but Lizzie broke in, which prevented her from dwelling on it.

"What'd he look like again?" she wanted to know in her sweet, high-pitched voice. "I forget."

"He was blonde…" Mary could see those honey golden streaks clear as day, shimmering and shining like their own beautiful halo. "With bright blue eyes – just like the turquoise water in the swimming pool."

"That sounds so pretty…" Lizzie interspersed again.

Ben shushed her, "Quiet! I want to hear the rest!"

While it was most unlike Ben to be the one demanding serenity, Mary wasn't entirely caught off guard. At the right times, he could be very mellow and single-minded; his focus was engrossed if you could manage to get him still.

"So…" the mother went on once she'd captivated Lizzie with the details about Jamie's appearance. "Belly Baby stayed nice and safe in my tummy for about three months…"

Her daughter leaned up upon hearing this, palm extended keenly. Reworking the blankets, she managed to rise onto her knees before Mary realized what she doing. Opening her mouth to ask, she stopped when Lizzie rested her nails on Mary's stomach.

"In there?" she whispered curiously. "He was _that_ small?"

"Yeah…" Mary murmured, for some reason not urging Lizzie to move her hand right away; instead, her fingers found her child's and intertwined side-by-side. "He was little…"

It was an odd sensation, to have a child in the here and now reminiscing about one who had never fully formed – one who had not, in fact, ridden a bike or taken his first tentative steps, no matter how real those visions of Mary's had seemed. Almost practicing an out-of-body experience, the woman made herself stay in the present, lightly shoving Lizzie's twitching hand away.

"And…the thing is…" a swallow accompanied the notion that Jamie had been tiny, tiny enough to fit within. "He stayed little forever and ever; he never grew into a big boy like Ben."

This was where Marshall stepped in, hearing Mary's voice go funny, "Believe it or not, there are lots and lots of Belly Babies out there. But, just like mama's Belly Baby, they can sometimes stay secret," he used this to gloss over people like his wife who didn't relish talking about her miscarriage because of the pain it caused. "Like elves and fairies and leprechauns, that's what they are. They have to be believed in. That's what makes them real."

Though Lizzie was the one who had seemed game for this tale, it was Ben whose face suddenly shone alight at hearing his father describe the tummy-dweller as such. Something so mystical, so otherworldly was right up his alley.

"I believe," he spoke up with a serious nod. "I believe mom had one too 'cause she's real special. Lucky her."

And Mary knew good fortune did play in here somewhere – she might not have been as lucky with Jamie as the twins might imagine, but if not for her first baby boy, there might be no excess children to speak of. And there was nothing inauspicious about that.

"You don't still have him though, right mama?" Lizzie piped up again as she settled herself back against her pillows. "He just stopped growing and you…" a pause; this part of the legend had never come up. "You…what'd you do with him once he stopped growing? Where did he go?"

Marshall was a pro at saving face, because Mary definitely wasn't so quick on her feet. Jamie's existence as told to the kids had always been a fluffy, drama-free version, one they could expand upon as they became older. Neither child had ever asked what had become of her lost baby in the aftermath of floating free among creatures like pixies and gnomes.

"All moms keep their Belly Babies in different places," the man invented on the spot. "Some have pictures…" he pointed to the wall, and both sets of eyes turned to see what he was indicating.

Jamie's original sonogram hung just above one of the twins' shots before they'd been born; once a part of the end table, things had been rearranged once the bunk beds had arrived, but some photos were too precious to part with.

"But, I'd say mom mostly keeps Jamie in her heart," patting his chest for emphasis. "That's where she can remember him best, and hold him close so she can tell you all about him."

"For real in your heart?" Ben looked slightly skeptical. "Like…he was for real in your belly, but is he _real_-real in your heart?"

All the 'real's' in that sentence made it difficult to decode, but Marshall was prepared as though he expected the question. For all Mary knew, he had. He was a very intelligent man, after all.

"It's a little bit of both," he informed the boy. "Babies really do grow in tummies, but mom keeping Jamie in her heart has to do with how she feels about him – and when you feel something strong enough, it is as real as anything else."

"Like how I feel about being a superhero," Ben stated intrepidly. "I _know_ I can make it happen if I believe enough!"

Marshall chuckled with a glance to Mary, who was looking sentimental, even sweet.

"Something like that, Bullet."

Lizzie decided to weigh in on the explanation as well, "I think that's nice," referring to Jamie's home in Mary's heart. "When I feel good, my heart is happy, so I bet Belly Baby is happiest there," only a five-year-old could rationalize in any such way, but Mary appreciated it just the same.

"I hope he is…" the blonde stated quietly, airy once again. "I like having him there," even if she'd wanted him on earth more.

"How come you named him Jamie?" Ben chimed in, accepting that his sister was going to talk one way or another, no matter how he tried to hush her up.

The questions really weren't typical of story time; the kids tended to be avid listeners, ready to wind down after long days of school and playtime. It seemed it had been longer than Mary had calculated when she'd neglected to communicate the lighter facts during the time of the miscarriage. Ben and Lizzie clearly didn't remember the story as well as Mary had hoped, which did explain the constant interruptions.

As it was, Ben's query was an awkward one. Marshall could've answered were he so inclined, but it wasn't he who had donned the little boy during fuzzy apparitions six years before.

"It just…felt right to me…" she shrugged nonchalantly. "He seemed like a Jamie. And you know, my dad's name was James, so I suppose it could've come from that," she might as well have out with it now that they were revved up.

Mention of her father changed the twins' expressions, however – changed them in a way that startled Mary. If she hated talking about losing a child, she loathed discussing James. He was practically banned from twilight conversations; it shamed Mary to think of her children being privy to her father's transgressions and misdeeds. While she had nothing to do with him being a gambling deadbeat who robbed banks, it still caused humiliation, which she refused to act upon – perhaps because, in spite of his mistakes, there was a small portion that still missed him.

It was Lizzie who spoke first, her mouth in a rounded O shape. She even exchanged a glance with Ben, both of them knowing how rare this was. The way they looked at one another was reminiscent of the way Mary and Marshall did – the way Marshall was doing right now.

"You named him that 'cause of your daddy?" the little girl wondered, her voice low.

Mary's eyes flickered to the comforter beneath her folded knees, "Sort of," and Marshall's hand landed on her shoulder.

"But, I thought you didn't like your dad," even Ben seemed hesitant to bring this up, but there was no time like the present. "That's what you said."

"Well, it's complicated," Marshall attempted to shut this down. "Mom doesn't really know him anymore; he's been gone a long time."

"But, we'll never meet him mama?" Lizzie sounded curious about her grandfather, maybe even sad because she knew the response that was coming. "Never-never?"

Mary shook her head, "No, baby. I doubt it."

This produced a frowny-faced pout on the little girl's otherwise pure, virtuous features. Lizzie, far more than Ben, seemed to have a heightened interest in James. Perhaps it was because she was the true definition of a daddy's girl, and couldn't understand why any father would just up and leave their children, never to return. Maybe it was because she was more prone to recognizing people's feelings and experiencing empathy on their behalf, although Ben too could be very kind when he put in the effort. Whatever the reason, knowing she was never going to lay eyes on James Wily Shannon always seemed to bring her down.

"Lizzie…" Mary felt she had to make up for this somehow, as if it were her fault the con wasn't ever coming home. "I don't think you'd want to meet my dad. He wasn't a very nice person…"

The truth of these words could not be disputed, and yet Mary still felt funny saying them aloud. At James' core, he was a stealing, scheming sneak-thief who had never done an honest day's work in his life. But, the woman often remembered a different James – a James who had doted on her, who had promised her pie in the sky and crowed that she was his favorite person in the world. This was the James who had undoubtedly caused her to mold her unborn son in his image.

"He was mean to you and Aunt Brandi?" Lizzie sounded alarmed, but also vastly interested.

"He _better_ not come back here then!" Ben shouted ruthlessly, pumping his fists and preparing for battle. "I'd beat him up for being a bad dad and then he'd never show his face again!"

Mary almost laughed at the illustration this produced, but Marshall sensed they might be headed for dangerous waters and brought the debate to an end.

"All right Ben, that's enough…" he waved a hand to settle him down. "The point is, no matter what kind of man he was, James was still a part of your mom and that's kind of how Jamie got his name."

No 'kind of' about it, Mary thought, but she let Marshall finish. He was more eloquent than she was anyway.

"James is in the past," his wife couldn't help but notice how he said this definitively, case closed. "But, Jamie isn't the same; he's someone who taught me and mom a whole lot and we want you to remember him. Wherever he is, he's a Belly Baby I know I'll never forget."

Mary was willing to stomach the sunshine-and-roses version of events if it meant they could get off the subject of her father. How he'd gotten thrown into the mix so severely, she still couldn't be sure. Marshall spoke about him in a rather strange way – like he was as spiritual as the 'Belly Baby' and only to be held in myths and legends. At least he had made the distinction between an individual they could leave behind and a child they wanted to live on forever. She hoped the twins understood that.

"What'd he teach you?" Ben brought yet another inquiry into play. "Was he real smart?"

"I'd say he helped _us_ get smarter," Mary eventually rejoined the dialogue after zoning out for a few minutes when she'd allowed Marshall to take over. "Before he lived in my belly, I wasn't sure if I wanted any babies. But, when he left my tummy I realized how much I'd miss getting to see him, and how badly I needed to be a mom – which is where _you_ two come in."

Delighted snickers accompanied this optimistic statement, and Mary was pleased to see that Marshall wasn't acting melancholy either. Brandi might have been right about the reason Mary had desired children, but she'd made it sound like it was for the wrong reasons, and everyone in their unit of four knew it was for the right ones – the surest ones there were.

"Then I'm glad you had Jamie, mama," Lizzie imparted her authority. "'Cause he helped you get us, right?"

"Yeah…" Mary could leave it at that, nodding assuredly. "Right."

As if the universe had known that the nighttime readings were about over, Mary's cell phone started buzzing in the back pocket of her jeans. She'd almost forgotten it was in there, as she usually left it out in the kitchen or on the coffee table while running around with the twins so she wouldn't lose it. But lately, it had seemed wiser to carry it around with her in case there was news on Holly.

Fishing it out, it seemed that this indeed might be the case – the name flashing back at her from the lighted screen was Brandi's.

Mary would've dearly loved not to answer; her insides began to bubble like hot lava just seeing the five letters that represented her sister staring her in the face. She owed Brandi nothing after the way she'd been treated, and yet she was well aware that there might be a plausible reason she was phoning – Holly. For a split second, she debated with whether or not to hand the cell over to Marshall and let him deal with it, but changed her mind.

Standing and patting the kids' feet, "Give me just a minute guys. I'll be back to say goodnight."

A none-too-coincidental glance from her husband came her way, like he sensed who was on the other end of the call, but he didn't attempt to make her stay. Leaving him to regale Ben and Lizzie with a few more anecdotes, Mary disappeared into the hall, taking care to shut the door behind her.

Once she finally picked up before her voicemail kicked in, she was none too friendly and couldn't have cared less.

"What do you want?"

As soon as Mary said it, she realized Jinx or Peter could've borrowed Brandi's cell, but fortunately – for them – that wasn't the case. It was most definitely her sister coming hoarsely through the speaker.

"It's me."

"I got that. What do you want?"

"I…I just…wanted…to talk to you…" Brandi ventured timidly, but not timidly enough for Mary.

"Funny," she dripped with acidity as she moseyed toward the kitchen, away from the bedroom in case they escalated to shouting. "When I wanted to talk this afternoon you weren't interested."

"I…I know…"

What else could she say? Mary was glad Brandi had no decent reply, that she'd thrown her off the mark, that she knew whatever she said could not make up for the insults she'd unloaded on her big sister at the hospital.

"Cut to the chase, Squish," the taller requested stonily. "I asked what you wanted. I don't have all night. I'm trying to put the kids to bed."

Brandi had dealt with Mary long enough to know she meant business when she was angry. There was no reason to believe Mary wouldn't just hang up if she'd had her fill, giving the younger no chance at defense or fumbled excuses. So, if she had anything to offer, now was definitely the time to bring it up.

"Mary, I…" there was a loud sigh that sounded like wind through the speaker, like it was taking all her strength to let go of whatever pathetic dignity she still possessed. "I'm…I'm so-so sorry about today; I didn't mean the things I said. I was horrible and I…I wouldn't blame you…if you were just furious with me."

Mary had thought this might be coming, but it didn't ring the same way as Brandi's other countless apologies. Usually she would fall all over herself, weeping and blubbering about what a horrific person she was, as if this somehow made up for her blunders. It would get to the point where Mary would have no choice but to forgive her just to shut her up, just to raise her self-esteem even a smidgen and hopefully prevent future episodes of lashing out as a result of inferiority.

This was definitely a more diverse approach. She sounded resigned, like she knew she was doing the right thing, but it was out of obligation, not remorse.

"Who told you to apologize?" Mary shot at her after wading through her own logic. "Mom or Peter?"

It probably hadn't been Jinx, as she hadn't been there when Brandi had lost her marbles over Holly's seizures. Mary liked to think if she had that she wouldn't have exempt Brandi from culpability. The older daughter remembered very well how Jinx had shockingly come to her rescue when Brandi had acted so childish about the miscarriage all those years ago.

Peter could've thrown his two cents in, especially if Brandi had told him the whole sad, sorry tale, but he really had other things to be going on with.

"Nobody _told_ me to," Brandi insisted, the smallest air of offense in her tone. "You didn't deserve what I said and I wanted you to know it."

"I'm sure," Mary was not feeling lenient. "Maybe if this was the first time I'd give you a break, but seeing as how you've never really clued in enough to figure out how much Jamie meant to me, I'm not so inclined. Seriously, even the kids get it better than you do and they're five."

"It's not that I don't get it…" another exhale. "It's that I…" Mary couldn't wait to hear this, but Brandi must've realized her sentence was going nowhere good and rectified before she got started. "Never mind. Of…of course Jamie was a real baby and I know it was hard for you to lose him, just like me and Holly…"

Mary didn't know why, but this rubbed her the wrong way. She'd never intended to compare miscarriage to the death of a child – they were certainly related, but not identical. Had her sister been more humane, she would've shown that she recognized the differences, but now it was like Brandi was pretending to think the two instances were irreversibly linked for Mary's sake – like she was pacifying her.

Unwilling to get into this, Mary decided that mention of her niece gave her something more important to talk about.

"How is Holly?" she worked to sound flat, which came out almost dreary. "Any more seizures?"

"No…none today," Brandi reported. "The tests showed that she might be more susceptible now that she's had the meningitis, but they don't think it'll be like an epileptic; we'll just have to wait and see…"

"Uh-huh…"

"If she stays stable tomorrow, they're going to operate on her tibia on Wednesday."

"Fine."

And even Mary's droning voice could not deter Brandi when asking for favors, "You'll still come by tomorrow?" apparently, she was afraid their squabble would prevent Mary from visiting the child. "Holly wants to see you."

"Oh?" pompous sarcasm leaked out. "I thought she didn't like me."

Brandi paused for a minute before going on, "She likes you," her voice went very small. "I-I hope that just because I messed up that you won't…stop seeing her…"

"Well, you're one to talk about putting your problems before your kid, but you can rest easy Squish," Mary sniped. "Holly's not gonna pay the price because you acted like some spoiled brat."

Brandi knew when to take a semi-civil response when it was dancing right in front of her – most of the time. Fortuitously, this was one of those times, and good thing too. Mary could hear Marshall's footsteps as she fought to remain placid where she stood at the island. Griping and grumping was her way of deflecting her true rage, which was still frothing right beneath the surface. One wrong turn and Brandi was going to have head bitten off, and deserve it too.

"Thanks…" the guilty party murmured meekly. "I hope I'll see you tomorrow then," clearly now that the regret was out of the way she wasn't going to waste a second sticking around for a beating.

"Just so you know," Mary had no intention of letting her get away that easily, and the iciness in her voice must've caught Marshall's attention, because he began rubbing her shoulder blades once he was close enough. "It is hardly for you that I'm doing this. It's about Holly. Only Holly. And Peter, if he wants me there."

The gap in their tight discourse strengthened with Mary's stipulations. She was positive that Brandi was reeling in the need to snap at her older sister, but knew she possessed absolutely no reason to do so. It was viciously satisfying to the other to know she was squirming. The pain she'd inflicted hardly lessened, but it gave Mary a good dose of the upper hand.

"Yeah," Brandi finally settled on the simplest retort. "I figured. Say goodnight to the kids for me, won't you?"

"Whatever," only Marshall's massage was keeping her from unleashing her fury.

"Mare…" the merest morsel of real, honest lament inched its way in, but it couldn't be expected to last. "What I did…I really am sorry…"

A huff from big sister that didn't get by Marshall; the pads of his fingers just kneaded harder.

"I know I hurt your feelings…"

"You were trying to," Mary suddenly remembered Marshall's theory and used the opportunity shove it in Brandi's face.

"I was…mad and upset, but it was no reason for me to…"

"Put a lid on it, Squish," Mary cut in ruthlessly. "For the record, I'm not interested in a lot of wallowing. You live your life and I'll live mine – just don't expect me to dig you out of whatever hole you've entrenched yourself in when you discover there's no foot holes there to climb back up. Those days are over."

She meant it too. Unaware that she'd planned on placing an ultimatum, the action suddenly felt good to Mary. They had long since passed the point where Brandi could be trusted to take care of herself, and after the thrashing she'd given the elder that afternoon, it was even greater motivation to start the independence now. It made Mary feel like she had the edge; she could withhold assistance from Brandi for as long as she wanted to, and she was in no way to blame.

It was reminding herself that she wasn't to blame that was the tricky part. Taking care of Brandi over the years had become an ingrained habit – one it might be tough to break.

"I don't think I'll need 'saving' or anything," the smaller told the older. "I have everything under control," no way in hell was that true. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Mmm hmm."

Mary hung up just in time, casting the phone onto the island with a noisy bang while she let out a deep, trembling exhale. It made her blood boil that Brandi could sound so patronizing; like Mary owed her forgiveness just from a simple 'I'm sorry.' There was no reason to believe a word of it; the same old mistakes meant the same old apologies were hollow and empty. Mary might not bestow repentance very often, but when she did she always made sure she meant it.

"I don't think I need three guesses to deduce who that was," Marshall's even, measured tone echoed from over her shoulder, his hands still working their magic in Mary's tense shoulder blades.

"Brandi," she growled anyway. "Chock full of half-assed apologies."

"Hmm…" he hummed sympathetically. "I see. You okay?"

"…Not really," Mary was truthful after a moment to think. "I don't know where she gets off. I told her this is it for me coming to her aide…"

"Yes, I was here for that."

"But even I know I'm blowing smoke. I can't stop myself from trying to rescue her from getting hit by a bus and dying in a gutter somewhere. It's what I do."

"Well, we'll just see how it goes…" Marshall suggested. "Nosing around in her situation isn't the same as pulling her back by the collar every time she makes a wrong turn."

Mary had to agree with that. She was still hankering to know what Brandi was up to, and nothing could keep her from investigating further, especially with Marshall by her side.

"You know…" her thoughts took an unexpected shift when her husband's gorgeous rubdown put her into a trance. "I used to think after I had the kids that I wouldn't want anything else anymore – that as long as I had them, I was set for life."

Even though she couldn't see Marshall's face, she knew he was confused, "And now you're not so sure?"

"Well…" a sigh as she began gnawing her thumbnail. "I think I was stupid enough to believe nothing else would ever bother me again – I had children, so all the other hardships in life would just be a cakewalk. I'd gotten the one thing I truly wanted, so what else was there?"

Marshall prodded her along, "And now?"

"I just…" blowing out, bangs fluttering in front of her eyes. "I was wrong. How could I have thought that I wouldn't want to get married? That I wouldn't need to hear 'I love you?' I actually believed something that asinine, like I wouldn't miss my father anymore, like I wouldn't wish that Brandi would shape up. And…I do," it was disappointing in its own way. "I really do."

For as profound or else as thespian as this affirmation was, Mary anticipated that Marshall would take a moment or two to serve up some kind of articulate rebuttal. But, she ought to have known by now that he could brush up the best reactions right off his sleeve – no preparations necessary.

"That is quite a lofty goal to have for yourself, inspector," he hypothesized. "I concede that the children have brought you fulfillment the likes of which I couldn't imagine in my wildest dreams. But, you can't hold yourself to that standard – its okay to struggle and complain when life knocks you down. One blessing doesn't override the challenges you come up against." Amidst the elaborate wording, he eventually made his point, "It is still fair to feel annoyance, dissatisfaction, dejection...you're human."

It wasn't so scandalous that Marshall would see it this way. Mary had spent so many years closing herself in that he welcomed any sort of emotions she allowed to flow into the open air. He practically salivated at the idea that she could feel so many things at once.

"I don't know…" she couldn't pretend to be convinced, but she turned around anyway, forcing the man to halt the generous work of his long-fingered hands. "I just remember what it was like when I got up in the morning and felt like I had nothing to throw myself into except for work."

"I remember that too," now he fondled her hair. "We weren't waking up together during that time."

"No," Mary chuckled. "I think I just feel guilty that I whine about crazy Brandi and even Jamie when I have what some people would die for…" she gestured toward the bedroom door, indicating Ben and Lizzie.

"On that note," Marshall obviously didn't want to delve too far into this, not when it was getting late. "You have no reason to feel guilty. But, it's about time we bid the heathens a hearty farewell. I'd say the day's about shot for you and me too."

Leaving it all behind for the remainder of the evening sounded fine to Mary, who was even willing to cast her shame aside in favor of one last glance at her babies before the lights went out. She followed Marshall back down the hall where he'd left the lamp on the night table glowing. She'd expected Ben to have ascended to the upper bunk in her absence, but that was not the case.

Wearing a devious grin beneath her covers, Lizzie was shooting her brother furtive glances like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Once she moved fully into the room, Mary saw exactly what the clandestine efforts were all about.

Ben had crashed out on his left side, his arm sprawled over Lizzie's middle, his mouth half-open where his cheek pressed into the pillow. Only those oceanic eyes of the girl's could be seen behind the blanket, but they were dancing with glee.

"What have we here?" Marshall whispered sneakily.

"Ben fell asleep," Lizzie disclosed. "Can he stay down here with me? Please-please?"

She knew she'd won even before Marshall gave his permission. None of them were dumb enough to move Ben when he was in such a deep state of slumber, and after the morning Lizzie had endured with the needle going through her arm, it was the least they could do.

"Well, I suppose…" the father played coy. "What do you think mama?"

"Sure Liz," Mary had no reason to say no. "You sleep well, okay?"

She leaned in, planting a kiss on those beautiful, wiry curls, all fanned out in ringlets on her pillow, and Marshall followed suit. Mary even took a moment to run a gentle hand over Ben's waves, careful not to disturb him, but he snoozed on, perfectly content nestled beside his sister.

"Night-night, Lizzie Lou…" Marshall crooned. "I love you."

"Love you daddy…" she murmured as she rolled over. "Love you mama."

"I love you too, baby," Mary promised.

And it was this, a soft, enchanted, but otherwise ordinary evening that chased all thoughts of guilt, fault, and any other negative thought clear out of Mary's head and into the shadows of night.

XXX

**A/N: I wish all of you a happy Halloween! Mine has been spent trying to get over a cold and trying to keep my cat/kitten (he's seven months,) from getting out every time we open the door for trick-or-treaters!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Made it to 100! Yahoo! Thank-you to everyone!**

XXX

True to her word, Mary did indeed return to the hospital on Tuesday, Marshall in her wake at Stan's urging that they both go and take care of whatever needed to be done. In times of crisis, he always pulled Delia up a rank and was prepared for anything. In the last five years since the twins were born, they'd all learned to rock and roll at unexpected moments. As had been discovered the day before, the holidays meant most witnesses wanted to stay snug in their homes and not have to deal with inspectors anyway.

Half of Mary wanted Brandi to be in Holly's room when she and Marshall arrived so she would know well in advance that her niece would be content. The other half wanted her nowhere near the premises, because after their blowup, Mary couldn't promise she'd be able to keep herself in check.

As it turned out, the latter option was the one they were saddled with, but fortunately for Mary, in addition to Brandi's absence, Rachel was not present either, meaning it was only Peter and his daughter occupying the space. In spite of her sister's nonexistence, Holly seemed downright cheerful – at least for Holly. She was sitting up in bed and doing a puzzle with Peter. Someone, probably Jinx, had brought over the little girl's miniature chalkboard, which they were using as a base for the activity. While still pale and even looking slightly skinnier, Holly definitely appeared to be on the mend, seizures be damned.

"All right, did you find all the edges?" Peter was asking when Mary and Marshall slipped in modestly. "Those are the straight pieces; they go around the outside…"

"I still looking daddy…" Holly informed him, combing the board with her little fingers in search of the desired pieces. "I miss one…"

"Just one, huh?" Peter mused, sounding doubtful. "Well, you keep your eyes peeled…" Mary noticed he was meticulously placing the pieces that fit near each other so Holly would have an easier time once she refocused on the task at hand.

"I don't know there's more…" Holly babbled, her aunt and uncle still lingering in the doorway. "I look for pony's tail…"

"Good idea…"

Just then, the door slid shut with a soft thud, but it was loud enough that both Peter and Holly took notice. Each party glanced upward, the man still looking fatigued, but slightly reenergized. Holly actually smiled and waved her tiny fingers; Mary couldn't imagine what would cause this sudden shift in mood, but she could only guess it was health related.

"Hey guys," Peter greeted them kindly.

"Unc' Ma-sh-all! Daddy got puzzle – see ponies?"

Mary seemingly invisible, the child held up the box to show Marshall an image depicting three horses with flowing manes and wholly unnatural colors – one was bright pink, another teal green, and the third electric yellow. They had designs printed on their hindquarters and seemed to be leaping over a rainbow.

"Well, that is mighty beautiful…" Marshall strolled right over and sat down on the side of the bed opposite his brother-in-law. "And I sure love seeing my jolly girl instead of my droopy one…" dropping a kiss on her cropped hair. "How are you?"

"It's looking up," Peter announced with a definite note of relief. "We kind of turned a corner last night; the fever's going down and the cough is subsiding…"

"Wonderful," Mary decided she might as well make her presence known, wandering over and standing at the end of the mattress. "How's the leg?"

"The surgery's scheduled for tomorrow so long as there aren't any additional problems," Brandi had said so when Mary had talked to her the evening before, but with the resentment she'd forgotten. "It'll be good to have that over with – once less hoop to jump through."

"How's she feeling about it?" the woman pressed onward now that Holly was occupied with Marshall, using her common sense and knowing it was probably smart to discuss the operation out of her earshot. "It's a pretty big deal for a kid her age…"

"For a kid of any age," Peter chortled nervously. "But um…I think she's okay," a hunch of his shoulders. "We've talked about it." He lowered his voice very suddenly, "Brandi promised-promised…_promised_…" there was a distinct pause while he let the trifecta of words sink in. "…That she would be here," an eventual finish. "That can account for Holly's decent mood…"

Now Mary understood. Pledges of her mother on the horizon meant Holly could deal with not having her in the here and now, so long as she showed up when it mattered most. The older sister hated to think her niece was actually getting used to not having Brandi around, that she was learning to cope due to past experience, but this might be the case. Three years old, barely a toddler, and she was already figuring out who she could count on and who she could not.

"Well…at least Brandi's coming through for the big stuff," that was all Mary could think of to say, and it still came out awkwardly, where she shuffled her feet and glanced at the ground in order to avoid meeting Peter's gaze. "Better late than never or something, right?"

"We'll see come tomorrow," Peter obviously wasn't going to get his hopes up. And, speaking in an undertone for the second time in two minutes, "Listen…I kind of got wind of what went down between you two yesterday…"

"Just forget it," Mary waved a nonchalant hand, not wanting this jittery father to have to deal with such nonsense. "Honestly. It's our issue."

"Even so…" he wasn't going to back down without a fight. "Brandi let slip a few blows that were exchanged and what she doled out for you to hear…"

"Peter, I'm a US Marshal; I've dealt with way worse than my baby sister throwing me a few petty insults," though she couldn't think what at the moment, and would much prefer unruly witnesses to claims like the ones Brandi had handed out. "Give me a little credit, man."

"Oh…so I'm 'man' now, am I?" he was teasing, Mary knew. "I didn't know you were going to start dishing up 'cool' lingo."

"Yeah well, 'cool' is subjective," Mary admitted. "I'm just saying. Don't waste your time with mine and Brandi's melodrama. Holly needs you."

This was followed by a sigh, "There is that. Too bad I can't ever _really_ seem to escape the melodrama that is my wife. It's funny…" now a reminiscent gleam was twinkling in his eye. "Her passion is one of the reasons I married her – one of the reasons I loved her so much."

Mary hoped he didn't mean 'loved' in the past tense genre that he'd just used it, but knew it was hugely rash to broach the subject. In any case, Peter was clearly lost in his memories and it was best to just let him finish.

"I just…I never really thought it would come to this, you know?" he scratched the back of his head as he blinked up at his sister-in-law, practically pleading with her to understand, to not choose sides just because Brandi was blood and he was not. "It's so frustrating that we can't get through to each other – that we just don't see things the same way anymore."

The distinctive structure of his phrasing had Mary hit with an abrupt burst of brainwaves. She recalled the day before when she'd been talking to Marshall and he'd advocated speaking to Peter about Brandi and the embezzling fiasco. He had seemed very adamant, or else certain, when he'd gotten the sense that Brandi had confided her methods in Peter and he had not endorsed her notions.

"_A name could tell us a whole lot."_

That was what he had said, and of course, he was right. Even a first name would be a start, though both beginning and surname would help tremendously. But, suppose Marshall had read the signals wrong? Maybe Peter didn't know anything about 'operation replace the funds' and Mary was about to blow it, thus making Brandi even angrier?

The inspector couldn't buy into it. She couldn't believe Marshall was mistaken. He so rarely was. It was this reminder, even just to herself, that had her blurting out questions without even thinking.

"Listen Peter…" it was her turn to pitch downward so Holly wouldn't hear; Marshall was busy taking over the puzzle anyway. "I'm sure you don't want to get into this today, but I was wondering…"

Mary's interrogation got cut clean in half when Holly let out a delighted squeal, angling to get her father's attention once more.

"Daddy! Unc' Ma-sh-all found bu-er-fies!" waving a jagged piece for emphasis.

"He found butterflies?" Peter asked keenly, leaving Mary aside to spotlight on his daughter. "Where do you suppose those go, pumpkin? Did you put the outside together already?" he indicated the straightened sections.

"Let's look on the box…" Marshall picked up the container to study the picture of the horses, searching with the point of his finger. "Ohhhhh…I see a whole cloud of pretty butterflies by the hooves down here," indicating a colorful patch near the bottom. "So I bet we'll find the spot right around there…"

"Me look!" Holly declared enthusiastically. "I find it…"

"You go right ahead," Marshall allowed, giving her the floor. "I'll stand back and watch a master at work," he even folded his arms behind his head and pretended to be leisurely, making Mary grin.

Holly just giggled before initiating conversation, "Mommy coming."

"Is she?" Marshall was casual, but Mary definitely saw his eyes journey upward to trade glances with his counterparts.

"Tomorrow," the little girl insisted boldly. "She watch them fix my leg."

"I see…" Marshall had nothing else to say, but settled for looking confident in his niece's convictions. "Well, I'm sure you'll be a big, brave girl – can you gave me that Shannon-Mann growl?" baring his teeth like that of a police dog.

Holly blinked coyly, "I Alpert," she reminded him she possessed neither of the last names he'd dictated.

"All right then – the Alpert growl," Marshall bent his arms at the elbows, sitting up on the edge of his chair, and made an impressive snarling noise. "Grrr…!"

"Grrr!" Holly's came out warbling with a giggle mixed in, but she imitated her uncle quite well, all thoughts of mommy pushed to the back of her mind. "I strong! I tough like Ben!"

"_Just_ like Ben!" Marshall reinforced. "He would be so proud of your daring courage! I'll be sure to tell him!"

"You don't forget?" it was important to Holly to look victorious in the eyes of her cousin.

"Cross my heart," the man swore, drawing an X across his ribcage, and she nodded her understanding.

Seeing that Holly's passion with the butterflies was abating in favor of having Uncle Marshall's undivided attention, Peter turned back to Mary. While he'd been momentarily distracted by the child's sketches about puzzle pieces and visits from Brandi, he couldn't have missed the seriousness of his sister-in-law's tone. She'd spoken under her breath for a reason, and he was about to find out why.

"You want to go in the hall?" he tossed up invitingly. "Achieve some semblance of solitude?" he must've known what was in store for him, but now he was sounding like Marshall.

"If you don't mind…" Mary bit on her lip, not wanting to give Peter something else to toil over, but without Brandi or Rachel in the neighborhood, this was probably the best chance she was going to get. "I think Holly's squared away with the kiddy-whisperer here…" nodding at her husband.

Peter smirked and stood up, "I'll be right back, pumpkin. I'm just gonna talk to Aunt Mary outside for a minute."

He kissed her hand before departing, revealing all the crisscrosses of tape and the needle still slipped seamlessly into Holly's vein, but she didn't even flinch, eager to get back to Marshall. He shot Mary a noteworthy glance, knowing exactly why they were off to a more sheltered corner, and was more than happy to play baby-sitter until they returned.

Out in the hallway, nurses bustled past, many of them wearing red and green scrubs now that the holidays were so fast approaching. Mary had noticed when she and Marshall had shown up that the waiting room was far more decorated than it had been the day before; evidently, the staff was into sprucing the place up for the children who could not spend the holidays at home.

"So…" Peter sighed once they were face-to-face and he stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. "What's up? What were you trying to ask me a few minutes ago?"

Mary circumvented the heart of the matter for a moment, hating that she could be so passive, but Peter's situation demanded it. He was a father who had watched his daughter go through hell in the last four days; it really wasn't fair to spike him with an interview about his errant wife.

"You honestly may not know anything about it…" she started at the end instead of the beginning, something she had not planned. "I'd just like to gather something a little more precise – I feel like I've been in the dark…"

"You're losing me, Mary," Peter decided to head her off before she became too jumbled. "What is it that I might not know anything about? Something tells me this has to do with Brandi."

"Yeah…" an exhale of her own, pausing with her hand twirling a strand of her hair. "She'd tell you it's none of my business, but…"

"I say different," again, Peter stopped her. "So, ask away. What do you want to know?"

Well, Mary could've hardly asked for a better dangling carrot. Peter was leading her right where she wanted to be; all her feelings of self-consciousness vanished. It couldn't have been clearer that he wanted her help, or at least her expertise.

And so, the woman didn't bother frittering away another second.

"I want to know who Brandi's been talking to in order to replace the money that was stolen from the Autoplex."

Peter nodded almost at once, making Mary feel better about the way she'd rambled off her entire request in one whole breath, as if she'd been waiting years to pose this demand. Even if he seemed to expect her insistence, it didn't stop her from being surprised that he presented her with the result so speedily.

"It's Scott."

The nature of Peter's reply was so unpredictably fast that the name almost didn't cement in Mary's brain. Very nearly flying in one ear and out the other, she worked to come together, to register who he had handed to her – who she was going to have to deal with now.

Scott. Scott, her day-trading half-brother that Brandi had tracked down in the tropics. The man who had tried to convince her to become a massage therapist when she had no training – the man who thought day-trading as an ex-gambling-addict was a suitable career choice. A lowlife who had been beaten to a pulp by bookies and had stayed in her house for weeks on end until Brandi had finally managed to get rid of him by buying him off – only to try and persuade Peter to give him a job at the dealership. Thankfully, the final portion had never come to fruition, but still, the idea that this was who Brandi was messing around with had Mary's innards turning to ice.

Trouble, if ever she'd seen it.

"Scott," she eventually repeated the name, perhaps to make it more real.

And Peter only recapped the notion, "At least, it was Scott about a month or so ago when I finally got nosy and snatched Brandi's cell phone. The mysterious phone calls were a little too familiar."

Mary suddenly remembered how Brandi's initial interactions with Scott had taken place when she and Peter's relationship had first started revving up. She didn't blame him in the least for prying.

"Nosy is not what I'd call it," she promised him. "Resourceful. Something like that."

"Well, whatever it was…" Peter shrugged. "That's who she's been dealing with – it's who she's still dealing with as far as I know, even though I told her a million times that it's not a good idea to mingle family with business…"

"That's putting it kindly," Mary mumbled.

"It's not as if he's not a nice guy – he is. But, he had an addiction that involves money, and I don't particularly want him fooling with my finances," this was a strong defense. "I'm sure I must sound like an awful hypocrite. I mean, it drives me up the wall when my sister blames all of _my_ shortcomings on _my_ addiction, but…"

His voice trailed away, and Mary recalled once more how Rachel had seemed to think Peter was nothing if not breakable just because he was an alcoholic. Still, Scott was not the same. Peter had gotten help for his problem, whereas Scott was still dabbling in a profession that was sure to push him over the edge in terms of gambling. He was absolutely the wrong person to confide in when you had money issues, and Mary couldn't believe Brandi had been so dim.

"I really wish that she'd leave it be; I don't know enough about Scott to really have a gauge on how far he'd go to 'help' Brandi," the rise in his voice on the word 'help' was not missed by Mary, who grasped the sarcasm. "But, she may have to find out the hard way."

Now the woman was thinking – thinking about how she might be able to do a background check on Scott, to see if he had been in way too deep in the last few years, if for no other reason than to serve Brandi with a sound 'told you so' and save Peter's business. It felt good to want to engage in something WITSEC related, or even just work-related. It was like she was her old self again.

"Just out of curiosity…" Peter passed on shrewdly when Mary got lost in thought, numbers and files from her computer whizzing through her head. "When did Brandi let you guys in on this little bump in the road? She first got in touch with Scott back in October…"

"She told Marshall about it the other night," Mary informed him. "Just about the embezzling, obviously, not about Scott. I wasn't there, but he seemed to think she was holding back – turns out she was."

"Well, Brandi staying mum is partly my fault," the man insisted with an anxious hunch of his shoulders. "I asked her not to tell anyone about what went down at the Autoplex…"

"That's no problem," she swore at once. "I'm sure you were…well…" unsure what the proper terminology would be, she danced around for a minute before landing on something appropriate. "I mean…I'd understand if you were embarrassed."

"At this point, I'm more embarrassed that Brandi and I can't act like civilized adults for more than two minutes," Peter turned it around. "Once Holly's healthy and back home again we're going to have to have a talk – make some decisions."

Mary shouldn't have been startled to hear this, but she was. Of course, she was the one who had been implying to Marshall for months that Brandi and Peter might separate, but deep down she'd never believed it would come to pass. Peter was an extremely tolerant individual, as demonstrated by the many chances he'd given Brandi when they'd first started dating. Only a very patient man would return to a woman after she'd pretended to be someone she wasn't, gotten drunk on the first outing, and then proceeded to tell him she'd been arrested for meth possession. Then again, everybody had their breaking point. Perhaps Peter had reached his.

"What are you thinking?" Mary goaded, sure it was none of her business, but unable to stop herself after her preliminary reaction. "I mean, have you tried…?"

Tried what? What more could Peter possibly do if Brandi wasn't willing to give anything in return?

"I actually tried to talk her into going to counseling," he picked up her statement. "She wasn't a fan of that."

Well, Mary couldn't say it would be her first choice either – she still got hives when she thought about her sessions with Finkel – but Peter was obviously getting desperate.

"Counseling? Just because of this obsession with Scott?" she didn't intend to make Peter sound outlandishly gung-ho, but was merely interested in his motivation. "You'll never hear me say this again, but I'm sure she's not trying to make your life miserable as far as that goes – she's trying to help in her own twisted way."

"I know that," Peter assured her. "But this goes…beyond Scott. You don't mind if I leave it at that, do you?"

Mary knew she'd wormed her way in enough and nodded, "Yeah…no, sure," she stuttered. "Thanks for the info."

"No problem," he chuckled bitterly.

Even though Peter had stalled before mentioning anything else that was wrong in him and Brandi's marriage, Mary was still pretty sure she'd received all the vital information she was going to get. She could figure that anything else still brewing was between the two of them – they simply didn't get along the way they used to, and being at odds for such an extended period of time was getting old. If Mary were to guess, she would assume Peter was tired of being snapped at all the time, seemingly for no reason at all.

"Well…" she didn't want to keep him any longer either. "We should see how Holly's doing," nodding at the closed door. "Although I'm sure she's all a twitter having Uncle Marshall to fawn over her."

Peter grinned, "Yeah. She's glad you're here too," he fed her a little self-esteem boost. "She really is. With her mom practically globe-trotting, I'm grateful she has another woman around who's so stable."

It was this compliment that had Mary all-but certain that Brandi must've confided their argument in her husband – and that he was the one who had urged her to cough up an apology. But, she had no interest in getting into that now, or hashing out where Brandi was today – AWOL once again.

"I do what I can," the aunt said modestly. "Let's go."

Peter turned and reentered first, where Marshall and Holly were still in the throes of completing her puzzle, which looked to be about finished. Holly had nudged herself closer to her uncle since they'd left, her head practically nestled beneath his chin as he pored over the remaining pieces.

"Oh! That's the last one – the last one!" Marshall encouraged as the little girl glanced wildly at her masterpiece for the one empty slot.

"Goes there!" Holly bleated, sticking the final square in the hole. She clasped her hands over her chest and grinned proudly at the finished product before glancing upward to see who had come back. "Daddy! See puzzle! I finish myself!"

"Oh my goodness…" Peter detoured around to the other side of the bed to get a good look. "That is beautiful! Look at those pretty ponies."

"Nice work Holls," Mary said approvingly, joining Marshall at his shoulder. "I think you're better at puzzles than I am," she said this because she hated puzzles and had scrupulously avoided buying any for the twins, but she was happy for Holly nonetheless.

"We have quite an architect here," Marshall patted her head. "You know what I think? This baby needs an audience," he indicated the work of art. "What do you say we get Ben and Lizzie down here to see it?"

Mary was scrambling even before he was finished speaking, not a clue where he'd pulled this conception from. They hadn't talked about it at all – in fact, they had explicitly decided _not_ to have the twins come to the hospital. Mary couldn't remember why right now, but that's what they'd said and she was a woman who stuck to her guns.

"Marshall…" she began warningly, but her admonition was impeded by the gasp that issued from Holly's mouth.

"I see Ben and Lizzie!" she boasted excitedly. "I see Ben and Lizzie! Please-please!"

"Marshall," Mary lowered her voice this time, catching a suspicious glance from Peter. "What are you doing? We…"

"Come on, they had the vaccine," he relayed. "She's up for entertainment," gesturing with his palm out toward his niece. "Why not? I'd say she's earned a few special visitors the night before a big surgery."

Mary was still gaping following his justification, looking from the bemused Peter to the anticipatory Holly to her wily, impish husband. She was going to look like quite the party pooper if she turned thumbs down on this, but her fierce overprotection of her kids could never be fully erased.

"See Ben and Lizzie today!" Holly was still chattering. "Can I daddy?"

"Well, it's up to Uncle Marshall and Aunt Mary…"

"Uncle Marshall says all systems are go," the man in question cut in. "It's all up to Aunt Mary now."

"Thanks a lot, doofus…" she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest and looking surly.

But, Holly wasn't through with her fervor, "Can come Aun' Mary? You bring please?" and then she fluttered her lashes, looking suddenly doubtful, wondering if her hopes were to be dashed.

The way her mother had done so many times.

And so Mary sighed and conceded defeat, "Sure. We'll bring them tonight, okay? I know they'd love to see you."

Holly gave a delighted squeal and burrowed happily into her father's chest, "Yay! Daddy I see Ben and Lizzie!"

"I heard…"

And the mouthed 'thank-you' from her brother-in-law as well as the shining, sincere grin still radiating from the little girl's face, had Mary knowing she would've been quite the fiend to have said no to something as pure as this.

XXX

**A/N: So, Scott is the culprit! But, you know that can't be all there is to it! Have to wait and see! ;) **


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I hope everyone is still enjoying this! I know that in the longer stories they sometimes drag out, but hopefully you're hanging with me!**

XXX

If it weren't for all the turmoil Holly had already endured, Mary probably would've broken her promise and refused to let the twins visit their cousin. No matter how petty, she didn't like the idea of them being in a hospital, and yet she wasn't entirely sure why. Overprotective, she definitely was, but she was far from a hypochondriac. Neither of Mary's parents had ever coddled her when it came to bumps and bruises, and she tended to adopt the same philosophy –rub dirt on it, dust yourself off, and get moving. Therefore, she didn't imagine her trepidation with them visiting the emergency room had to do with them falling ill.

The more she thought about it, the more she realized it might be something internal, some fear of her own that was bleeding over into the kids. All of Mary's memories involving Ben and Lizzie and hospitals had to do with their time in the NICU.

All thirty-three days of it.

When she thought back on that statistic, she was staggered to think she'd never lost her mind in that enclosed space she had once dreaded so heartily. As tiny, premature infants, Ben and Lizzie had not stayed on the same path in the road leading home. Ben had been cleared to leave the hospital after twenty-one days, when Mary would've been a little over thirty-seven weeks pregnant. But Lizzie, who had-had continual problems with her respiratory system, body temperature, and staying warm, had stayed a long thirty-three until the middle of September. It had been agonizing for Mary not to take them home at the same time, mourning Lizzie when she was at the house with Ben.

And this was all the woman could recall when she led her children, one on each hand, through the corridors of the hospital, five years from those fated early days like they'd happened in another dimension. The need to shield them from monitors and needles and endless tests of their strength and breathing still flowed in Mary's veins even though they were here – alive, well, and thriving to beat the band.

"Why can't we see Holly now, mama?" Lizzie asked impatiently from her right, staring up into her face with her enormous cobalt orbs. "Why do we have to wait?"

"Because her Aunt Rachel is visiting her and I told Uncle Peter we'd go for a walk until she went back to her hotel."

"Holly can't have two aunts," Ben glowered as he plodded through the halls, making it difficult for Mary to keep hold of his fingers. "She only has one."

"You have more than one aunt," Mary reminded him, knowing he was just being fidgety because he was being forced to wait his turn. "I know you see Aunt Brandi more than Aunt Lisa and Aunt Shauna, but they're still out there."

Lisa and Shauna were married to Marshall's brothers, Travis and Carson, respectively. But, seeing as how Mary barely remembered they existed, she couldn't expect her five-year-old to do so. The concept of numerous aunts was still hard for both Ben and Lizzie, though Mary kept explaining it as best she could.

"Yeah, but they're all the way out in Montana…" Ben griped in response to his mother's recollection.

"Nana and Papa Seth are in Montana," she had to correct him. "Dad's brothers are still in Texas where he grew up."

Ben smacked a hand to his forehead with this, a gesture he had undoubtedly picked up from television.

"I don't know where all these places are!" it was as if Mary were insane for believing otherwise. "I can't keep track!"

Now she laughed, "You and me both, Ben."

"Where's Holly's Aunt Rachel from?" Lizzie joined in, walking far more leisurely than her brother; Mary noticed she was almost skipping into each box on the linoleum floor, careful not to step on the cracks.

"New Mexico, like us," the woman responded. "She's just a little further away."

"Oh," Lizzie said softly.

This quieted both children, at least for a minute, Ben beginning to swing arms to keep his limbs occupied and not so twitchy. Mary didn't really enjoy roaming the hospital any more than they did, but she didn't want their visit with Holly to be interrupted by Rachel, because Lizzie would grow shy and Ben would show off. It was best that they have the time to themselves to just be kids, to not have to concern themselves with unfamiliar adults and watching their backs.

At the moment, they were still waiting for Marshall to unite with the party, but he was running late from the office, and likely wouldn't be able to find them at this point even if he were to arrive.

"Where are we going?" Ben finally wanted to know, unable to stay silent for more than a few seconds.

"Nowhere," Mary was blunt. "We're stretching our legs."

"Can I practice flying down the hall while we wait for Holly?"

"No."

She could see where it would be tempting though. The hallways were vast and open, rooms sequestered on either side with their doors closed. It was Ben's idea of a haven – all sorts of space to spread his wings and set sail.

"Please?" he begged. "I won't go fast! I'll just run a little and try to take off!" now he was pumping her arm up and down.

"Ben, I said no."

"Pleeeeeaasseee!" and he escalated to whining, making Mary halt their march. "Even if I'm real-real careful? Promise?" When Mary wouldn't budge and merely stared him down, "_Double_ promise?"

Now the blonde frowned, "What is a 'double' promise?" she'd never heard the term before, but she didn't have to guess who had invented it.

"It means I'm super-super serious and that I know I'll get in big-big trouble if I don't do what I promised!" Ben rattled off impressively. "Dad made me make one when I tried the zip line at that cool park we went to that one time!"

So, it had been Marshall's doing. Well, that was no big surprise. But, Mary supposed she could live with this supposed 'double promise' no matter how corny if Ben knew he was really going to get it if he disturbed anyone.

But still, she stayed firm and steely, "You have to be _quiet_," she emphasized with a pointed finger. "These people are sick…" motioning at all the rooms surrounding them. "You will _definitely_ not be watching TV at home tonight if someone complains, got it?"

"I got it, I got it!" he practically shouted, which forced Mary to place a finger to her lips and shake her head. Whispering joyously, "Got it."

"All right then…" Mary lamented. "Prepare for takeoff or whatever it is you superheroes do."

At her endorsement, he jerked his hand free and scuttled a few feet in front of his mother and sister. Mary watched with some degree of interest as he spread both arms out to his sides so that they were parallel to the ground. Then he crouched his knees, and from her vantage point she could even see him squinting, like he was sizing up the plane ahead. Lizzie began to giggle, like she knew there was no way in hell Ben was actually going to make it airborne, but his attempt was fun to watch. Mary had to hold in her laughter as well, especially since her son was so infinitely stern.

"Have to jump sooner since I don't have red on…" he muttered under his breath to no one in particular.

This time, Mary had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle her snickers. She assumed Ben was referring to his cape, because the one he wore was not crimson, but green; it matched the Green Lantern shirt Delia had given him, which he happened to have on.

"You're _never_ gonna go!" Lizzie suddenly burst out, apparently tired of waiting for the show to begin.

"Shh!" the boy hissed crossly. "You broke my concentrate!"

"Concentration," Mary whispered.

Ben ignored her, setting his stance one more time. Mary really thought she was going to bust a gut by the time he finally began his ascent, because his butt was wiggling and the ends of his fingers were tingling.

And out of nowhere, he hollered, "BLAST OFF!" which made an awful echo in the cinderblock hallway.

"Ben!" Mary scolded, but he was already gone, racing at top speed and flapping his arms like some bird of prey, pterodactyl-style all the way.

Lizzie suddenly began running after him, but she certainly wasn't as quick as he was, nor did she have the desire to be. Mary watched in horror as her second-born rocketed his sprint, springing up at the knees and flinging himself into the air like a foolish teenager doing a belly-flop off the high five, arms still fully extended.

Lizzie shrieked, half-amused, half-frightened, "He's flying!"

This, of course, was the furthest thing from the truth. Ben completely misjudged whatever resemblance to a landing he was going for and actually veered sideways in the air, banging into the right-hand wall with a spectacular thud and landing in a heap on the floor.

Highly annoyed with herself for letting him talk her into this, Mary rushed forward and yanked him to his feet, knowing he was perfectly fine but still shaken at seeing him plummet so freely.

"Are you okay?" she tried to dust him off even though the floor was spotlessly clean. "Ben…" a huffy sigh. "You said you'd be careful!"

"I was!" whatever his version of 'careful' was.

"That was nothing close to careful!" she informed him sternly. "One of these days you're going to get hurt and then you'll find out…!"

Mary stopped herself just in time. She'd been about to say, 'And then you'll find out you can't fly.' But, she knew how this would crush him, knew he believed with all his heart that he could stay aloft like airplanes and blue jays, but his fearless soaring was getting out of hand. It was like trying to tell him there was no Santa Claus; it seemed cruel at such a young age.

"Just…no more flying practice inside, all right?"

"Yeah, all right…" he agreed begrudgingly.

"Mama, who are these?" Lizzie asked out of the blue from over Mary's shoulder.

"Who are what, baby?" she wasn't really paying attention, still trying to make sure Ben hadn't been harmed.

"These – who do they belong to?"

At last, Mary stood up and turned around, and saw that Ben's flying adventure had taken them to the last place she'd expected to end up - the nursery. The huge expanse of wall he'd careened into was glassed-in, showing row upon row of snoozing, squirming, crying, wide-eyed babies. Some were pink-cheeked and some were fair-haired, some with blue hats and some with pink. There were dozens and dozens – so many that Mary couldn't have counted, each in their bassinets, nurses tiptoeing here and there to tend to their wailing and fussing.

Stepping closer and making sure Ben was attached to her hand again, Mary noticed that Lizzie was peering over the edge of the window, fingers curled and trying to get a good look.

"They're babies, Liz," Mary eventually disclosed, pausing to lay a hand on her ringlet brunette curls.

"I know _that_," she rolled her eyes. "But, whose babies? Why are there so many? They don't _all_ belong to the same person, do they?"

"No," the laugh that had been threatening to spill over while Ben had prepared to wheel into oblivion finally escaped. "They belong to moms and dads. You know that babies are born in hospitals – most of the time. This is where they stay until they're ready to go home."

Most of the time.

"So, Ben and me stayed in a place like that, then?" Lizzie pointed just as Ben joined Mary at her side, barely tall enough to see into the room beyond.

"Well…" the mother was nothing if not frank. "It was a little different for you guys…" a lot different, more like. "You were very early and smaller than these babies…" looking at them now, Mary knew her children hadn't reached the plump size displayed until they were at least two or three months old. "You stayed in a room with more nurses and more doctors to make sure that you'd be okay."

"By ourselves?" Lizzie never stopped wondering.

"Other babies were there too," it was getting tiresome saying 'babies' all the time. "And dad and I were there the whole time."

Each second apart from them had been terrorizing, torture Mary had experienced in the eight months leading up to their birth. She had let nothing stand in-between her and her children, and the result of her maternal fostering was standing right in front of her.

It was this thought, nursery babies or not, that made her rumple Lizzie's hair and sling an arm around Ben's shoulders, glad for once that it was just the three of them. She adored Marshall, of course, and he was vital to their foursome, but sometimes when she reminisced about those early days she remembered fiercely how it had been up to her and only her to harbor her twins within, safe and warm, belly babies in their own right.

"Can I see closer?" Lizzie asked, having to stand on tiptoe because she was shorter than Ben.

"Yeah…" knowing her son wouldn't want to be held aloft due to his superhero prowess, Mary hoisted Lizzie onto her hip so she could construct a proper view. "That's a lot of little runts, huh?"

The girl giggled at her vernacular, "They're cute."

"Not as cute as you," Mary played demure, not one who usually fell back on looks to compliment her children. "And Bullet down here."

"I am _not_ cute!" Ben was not at all flattered and stuck a hand on his hip. "I'm _burly_!"

"That's a dad-word too," Mary assumed, always in awe of how Marshall filled their son with the best and the brightest. "You're a walking dictionary, Ben."

He just smiled smugly, but before they could get in any further, footsteps sounded down the hall. At first, Mary ignored them, thinking it was just another patient or visitor, or else a doctor or nurse. The third option ended up being the correct one, but it was no one Mary had anticipated seeing. Caught up in baby fever with her two little darlings, she was scared back to reality by two pleased, but all-too-recognizable voices. It made sense, given where they had stopped and stared, and still Mary couldn't have stepped into a stranger reality if she'd tried.

"Well, who do we have here?"

Whipping around, nearly sending Lizzie to the floor unintentionally, Mary found herself face-to-face with two women who had been crucial in creating the children so near and dear to her heart, if only in the medical sense.

On the left was Doctor Wolk, her cropped hair curling around her ears, her grey eyes shining at the three individuals in front of her. On the right was her friend and colleague, Doctor Reese, lab coat on and pen pocketed – professional as always.

Mary was so caught off guard she didn't know what to say at first. Sliding Lizzie gingerly onto the ground, she tried to come up with something diplomatic, for both doctors were looking exceedingly entertained at the scene they'd stumbled upon. While Mary had been referred to Doctor Reese by Doctor Wolk, and then passed back to the latter when she'd miscarried, only to land once more with Doctor Reese for the twins' birth, she'd rarely, if ever, seen them together, though she knew they were old friends.

For Doctor Reese, in particular, it was odd to be in her presence while she had her clothes on. She still tended to associate Doctor Wolk with WITSEC, a woman of high intelligence and a knack for skirting the ropes and keeping secrets.

"Mary!" Doctor Wolk virtually boomed while Doctor Reese continued to grin. "It's been awhile! How are you?"

Because she had nothing else to do, Mary accepted the hug she was offered with Lizzie clinging to her leg the entire time. Fortunately, Doctor Wolk kept it short and the other physician did not make a similar move.

"Hi…" Mary managed to say. "I know. Lucky for me, I haven't had much reason to frequent the hospital lately."

"Not like the old days, huh?" Doctor Reese – Raquel, Mary suddenly remembered – chimed in.

As she had known Mary's pregnancy backwards and forwards, the mother nodded, "Right."

It was evident that Doctor Reese couldn't take her eyes off the children; Mary knew she hadn't seen them since their infancy, when they were wiggly little newborns just trying to make it out alive. Surely it must be rewarding for her, to view them now as five-year-olds, perfectly healthy and plugging along, especially considering how hyper Mary had been while expecting.

"Where's your better half?" Helen filled the silence, knowing she could get away with the joke since she often dealt with both inspectors.

"We're just waiting on him," Mary said.

"What brings you to our neck of the woods?" Raquel spread around, her hand indicating the whole ward. "I'd like to think if there are more babies in your future that we'd be your first call."

A nervous laugh erupted at this bizarre perception; Mary couldn't help herself. She was pushing fifty these days, and while in some ways she'd always envisioned herself with three children after losing Jamie, she knew her days of pregnancy and newborns were over. Despite motherhood's brutal calling, she honestly couldn't be sure she would survive a third pregnancy. Between the unbearable heartache caused by the first and the suffocating stress experienced during the second, it wasn't fair to her or some imagined baby to go through it again.

"It's nothing like that," she finally recovered herself to respond. "My niece is here and we're just hanging out until she's up for visitors. She was brought in early Saturday morning with bacterial meningitis."

"Ooh…" both doctors shook their heads in unison, knowing the threat such an illness posed.

"That's a rough one," Doctor Wolk reinforced. "Is she doing okay?"

"Better," Mary bobbed her head. "She's heading into surgery tomorrow – she took a bad fall in the rush to the hospital and ended up with a fractured tibia. Girl doesn't know how to stay out of trouble," a small tease.

But, neither woman was really listening anymore; Mary could tell from the way their gaze did not leave the twins'. Lizzie was looking more introverted by the second, but Ben was becoming antsy, worn out with waiting to make a spectacle of himself. Mary was never one to hold back when bragging about her children, and she knew the hour was almost upon her.

It was Doctor Reese who spoke first, looking utterly baffled to have the kids right in her line of vision, like it was impossible to conceive that two babies she'd once ushered into existence where standing in the here and now.

"We were gonna get here eventually, Mary…" Raquel almost beamed. "These cannot be the little peewees of premature labor and bed rest and steroid shots…" it still amazed Mary that she'd endured all that. "It can't have been that long."

"It sneaks up on me sometimes," the blonde tried for a humble smile. "This is Ben…" patting his back. "And Lizzie," coaxing her out from behind her legs. "They just turned five in August."

"You're kidding," Doctor Wolk got her two cents in. "Seriously? Five years have gone by already?"

"Yeah…" Mary chuckled. "Well, it's thanks to you guys that we're five years into it at all."

They exchanged glances at this, unquestionably perplexed by Mary's charitable words. It was not a Mary either of them was very familiar with, but they'd take it.

"I don't think I'd go that far," Helen stated, self-effacing as ever. "Mom here deserves most of the credit."

Ben had been quiet long enough, his manners disintegrating to sawdust, "Who are you?" he exclaimed right in the middle of the discussion, like he'd been late reciting lines in a play.

Both ladies laughed, but Mary felt her cheeks go pink, "Someone's politeness isn't as refined as it should be," she excused.

Briefly, she made introductions a second time, practically having to force Lizzie to extend her hand and say hello, but each doctor was enthralled with the little ones, whether due to their mere company or because seeing Mary as a doting mom was such a different light on her, the woman couldn't be sure. It was surreal, standing here all together, but nice in its own way. It reminded Mary of a time she seemed to have lived eons ago, where there was no goal in mind but happy, healthy babies.

"You helped mama when we got born?" Lizzie uttered bashfully once explanations had been given about how they all knew one another. "Really?"

"Really," Doctor Reese declared. "I hope it was a job well done."

"Was it gross?" Ben wanted to know. "Was there lots of blood and stuff?"

Still more laughter ensued, "Ah…some," Raquel waved a nonchalant hand. "But, your mom was pretty brave."

"Cool…" Ben breathed.

"It is _not_ cool," Lizzie slipped in, almost in snob-mode. "You only think so 'cause you're a boy."

"It's _scientific_," Ben bragged, boasting his vocabulary for everyone in the vicinity, a maniacal gleam in his eye. "Isn't it? Isn't being a doctor scientific?"

"I would say that's about right," Helen conceded. "You sound like you're pretty smart," she observed.

"I am," completely unabashed, he didn't even try to sound humane. "So is Lizzie. I told her that we're gonna take over the world one day."

"I believe that," Doctor Reese was delighted while Mary couldn't quit blushing.

"Your mom and dad are already halfway there," the counterpart claimed.

Smiling diffidently from behind Mary's knee, Lizzie finally plucked up enough gumption to speak again, "Mama is the best at everything," this was apparently big news, and fitting with Doctor Wolk's gag about Mary and Marshall being nothing short of king and queen. "She's the smartest person ever."

Mary let out a tittering laugh at this, no earthly idea where her daughter's confidence in her abilities was coming from.

"Not…_ever_, Liz."

The doctors were still staring, totally unaffected by the mild chitchat, taken in by the rich, dark curls and scalloped waves, the clear blue of their irises; the genuine childlike quality of their banter.

"God, Mary…" Helen sighed. "They're precious. And talk about gorgeous. Look at those eyes…"

"Well, you know where they got those," Raquel was certain, and the verdict was mutual once again.

"Marshall," they affirmed in harmony.

For as much as Mary cherished rebuffing the twins and stroking their egos, this love-fest was getting a little out-of-control. She hadn't intended for Ben and Lizzie to talk her up so steadily, but it was hardly surprising that they managed to charm the pants off the two professionals. They did it without even making an effort.

"Listen guys…" Mary stole for a moment alone, hoping to get a few words in aside from those spoken by a kindergartener. "How about a snack? There's a vending machine right down the hall…" she indicated the end of the corridor where the contraption was humming away. "You can each get something," fishing two dollar bills out of her pocket.

"I always mess up the letters though!" Lizzie fretted.

"Ben will help you," Mary was easygoing. "If you make a mistake, just come back and I'll give you another dollar. Stay together, all right? Make sure I can see you."

Ben, more than happy to lead the way, took up his sister's hand and the pair of them darted the remainder of the way down the passage, eager to have a treat to munch on while they lingered around for their father and Holly.

Once they had disappeared, Mary was left alone with the practitioners, both of which couldn't seem to keep the amusement off their faces. It was hard to say why it made her uncomfortable – maybe because her persona in the days she'd seen a lot of Doctors Reese and Wolk was less than glamorous. Or, it could just be attributed to the fact that she didn't like brooding over what could've gone down with the kids, that it was simply too terrifying to think about – as was Jamie, in his rawest form when she was with Helen.

Then there was Brandi and Holly, who never stopped lurking in the recesses of her mind.

"It's good to see you guys…" she did her best to initiate conversation, however, especially since she'd taken the crack to get rid of Ben and Lizzie. "Marshall will be sorry he missed you; he'll get a kick out of it."

The way she was rummaging in her pockets and shifting on the spot must've given them some clues, because they both dropped their coy demeanors and transitioned to something more natural.

"Honestly, Mary…" Doctor Reese piped up. "They are just adorable. And they look _exactly_ like Marshall…"

"They really do," Helen coincided with her opinion, for she did know the male inspector better, after all. "I've never seen such eyes, and that thick, dark hair; Ben is a dead ringer…"

"We get that a lot," Mary told them, not offended in the least. Jamie had been her child that resembled her; the twins favoring Marshall was gravy. "He's a proud dad."

"You seem like a proud mom," Raquel put forward. "Everything's really all right with your niece? You seem a little distracted."

"Oh yeah, she's coming around…" Mary insisted vaguely. "It's my sister – her mom – that has me on edge, but it's nothing I shouldn't be used to at this point. Fortunately for us, my brother-in-law has been incredible."

"Your sister…" Doctor Reese repeated thoughtfully. "Would that be Brandi?"

"Yes," Mary had hoped the connection wouldn't be made, but it had; she'd almost forgotten that Raquel had assisted Brandi with her pregnancy as well. "Brandi's the one."

"So, your niece would be…?" wracking her brains, she did finally come up with a moniker. "Holly?"

Doctor Wolk interrupted before Mary could get a word in edgewise, "You've delivered how many kids and you still remember their names?"

"I never forget a Christmas baby. And, the Shannons were a special crop."

No doubt about that.

"Yeah, Holly," Mary nodded. "But, I won't burden you with Brandi's sad, sorry tale. The Shannons may be special, but they're also full of tragedy – some of it personally manufactured. My sister has never quite understood the commitment required when it comes to being a parent."

It was Helen, who always seemed to know just what to say, exactly how to convince Mary she was on the right side of the law, no matter how grueling her intentions.

"That's too bad," a plain and simple remark. "Because your little Lizzie was right. Your sister has the best there is when it comes to devotion."

And if Brandi couldn't learn from such a role model, how could anyone ensure that she'd ever make her way?

XXX

**A/N: Some fluffy filler, but since both doctors were such big parts of the previous two stories, I decided to bring them back!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I definitely know the last chapter was pretty much filler! Hopefully it starts to pick up again here!**

XXX

Reservations aside, the concept to have Ben and Lizzie spend some quality time with Holly prior to her tibia operation turned out to be a good one. Once Lizzie got over all the beeps and sputters of the monitors, as well as the scary-looking IV permanently affixed to her cousin's arm, she was joyful and comfortable, perched on her knees in the bedside chair.

Ben, too, gave Holly some distraction from her predicament, but was too fascinated by everything in her room to keep his behind firmly planted anywhere. Mary was left with the task of detailing every mechanism in sight until Marshall arrived at six thirty and took over.

If nothing else, the escapades involving the twins gave Peter a little bit of a break. Though he stayed the entire time, Mary could tell that it was relaxing for him to no longer be the center of Holly's attention. He simply got to observe the happenings, and was plainly reveling in seeing his little girl smile.

"Whoa!" Ben respired in a deep voice from where he was fiddling in the drawers by the sink. "Look at what's in _here_!"

"Stay out of there," Mary slammed the hatches shut, but not before Ben made out with a pair of latex surgical gloves, of all things.

"Mmm…gonna have to confiscate those, spark," Marshall held his palm out and wiggled his fingers. "Fork them over."

"I just want to see!" Ben claimed in a would-be-innocent sort of tone. "They're all rubbery…" stretching the gloves for emphasis.

"They're not going to use them now that he's touched them, anyway," Peter called from where he was lounging by the window. "Might as well give him free reign."

"Yeah, free reign is what got me in trouble when I let his highness here try to fly down a hallway full of sleeping babies," Mary groaned, but gave up trying to weasel the gloves out of her son's hands and roved back to the end of Holly's bed. "I thought I was supposed to be bad cop, doofus."

"You are," Marshall agreed, staying where he was near the counter so Ben wouldn't pull out anything else. "Don't look at me. You're the one who caved."

"The first and last time," his wife bemoaned tragically. "You're back to playing the softie next time," she informed her partner.

"It is my sworn duty," Marshall was as cheesy as ever, but Mary appreciated it all the same.

Meanwhile, on the bed, Lizzie was sharing a set of play jewelry with Holly, which she had brought from home. Mary had heard about the incident with Pretzel after the fact, and was glad her daughter had come up with something to loan to her cousin, rather than give away. The beaded bracelets and necklaces Lizzie had dug up came in a hard plastic purple purse, and at the moment the elder girl was bedazzling the bed-ridden with pink spangles around her neck.

"That matches your gown!" Lizzie decided, for Holly had indeed changed her outfit since her arrival; the fabric she sported now was printed with light red hearts, similar to the band-aid on Lizzie's arm. "You should wear those."

"You have crown?" Holly blinked into the confines of the tiny purse, looking disappointed when she resurfaced.

"I forgot it," Lizzie admitted sadly. "It doesn't fit in here."

The crown in question was very royal-looking indeed, gold with lots of glittering sequins. This was something Lizzie definitely could've donated to Holly, as she hardly ever played with it and it was far more loved by the little one.

"But, I be princess…" Holly visibly wilted.

To avoid Lizzie feeling guilty, Marshall spoke up, "It's okay, Miss Jolly Holly. Aunt Mary or I can bring it by tomorrow, and you can wear it after they fix your leg. How's that sound?"

Peter joined in the compromise, enjoying the illumination surrounding his daughter too much to allow her to pout for any length of time.

"I think that is a great idea," he didn't leave his chair, getting in every ounce of rest he could. "You're my Princess Pumpkin whether you have a crown on or not."

Lizzie descended into a fit of laughter at the thought of 'Princess Pumpkin' and Peter looked unusually pleased that he'd produced such hysterics. Much like him, Mary was glad to see Lizzie enjoying herself. She'd been concerned that all the uncertainty a hospital presented would frighten her, and she'd shrink from engaging with her cousin. It had been slow going at first, but she'd come around once Ben had started dismantling the room in search of things to play with.

"Not pumpkin, daddy!" Holly cried, giggling now because Lizzie was. "You silly!"

"_I'm_ silly?" Peter teased. "I don't think so! Who's the one who's getting the magic light saber in her leg? I think _that's_ pretty silly!"

Holly had no response to this and went back to tinkering with her jewelry, but Mary's attention was definitely caught. Turning to the man, she raised her eyebrows in incredulity at his bizarre explanation of the rod that was going to be inserted into Holly's tibia.

"Magic light saber?" she repeated almost scornfully.

Peter hunched his shoulders half-heartedly, "It was the best I could do. Brandi's actually better at that kind of stuff…" for a split-second, his mind very clearly left the room, but he was quick to snap back in. "Anyway. I told her the shaft they're placing in the bone has special powers – like cousin Ben's."

"Ah. Smooth," Marshall approved, just as their son began to try the gloves on for size as elephant ears, but they kept slipping off his lobes and onto the ground.

"Well, that was really what sold it," Peter grinned. "Beyond that, I really had to fine-tune my bit. The rod is really a mystical beam stick that's going to shine and glow so bright that it'll heal her leg…" even he seemed to realize how ludicrous this was, and Mary began guffawing immediately. "I'm not exactly at one with my fables, okay? She bought it – that's what counts."

"I concur," Marshall bowed his head nobly. "I would forfeit that-that is a worthy, yarn-spun philosophy that works in any land that contains a Pumpkin Princess," now he was joshing too. "What does that make you, then? King Radish?"

"King Radish!" Ben reiterated for effect before Uncle Peter could think of a retort. "Good thing I'm Bullet."

Mary had to smirk at his shrewdness and shake her head, "You got that right, Ben."

Bringing him into the debate meant that Mary finally got a good look on how he was experimenting with the surgical gloves. Not synched enough to fit over his ears, now he was trying to fasten the opening to his nose – a la an elephant's trunk instead. Ben was the only one his mother knew who could be so captivated by something so simple.

"Let me see one…" Mary held out her hand, gesturing for Ben to place a glove inside. "I've got something to show you."

Obligingly, Ben did as asked, watching curiously to see what Mary had in store that he hadn't figured out. First, she flapped the fingers outward, making sure the glove was smooth and free of wrinkles or air holes before going on. Then, quite childishly, she put her mouth to the gap in the wrist, blowing like she was inflating the object. It took her a few breaths, but within a minute or two she had a perfectly pumped up balloon, flashing it around for all to see, proud of her handiwork.

"How'd you _do_ that?!" Ben sounded sincerely astounded, bouncing on the balls of his feet and grabbing thin air in an attempt to snatch the now-bloated glove. "I want to try!"

"No sale, Bullet," Mary wagged her head, but couldn't help smirking at the fact that he was so awed. "But here, let me tie it off and you can do whatever you want with it."

Whipping her trusty rubber band off her wrist, she placed a knot in the balloon and put the material around to secure it before ultimately returning the new entity to the boy.

"Look what mom did!" he waved it about two inches under the noses of Lizzie and Holly. "She made me a fancy balloon!"

"Fancy is hardly what I'd call it," Mary chortled.

"So mature though," Marshall taunted playfully. "When they report that supplies were stolen from this room, they're not going to be knocking on my door."

"Killjoy," his partner accused.

"Ooh, mama!" now Lizzie was in on the action, batting her fingers in several different directions, but Ben wouldn't let her near his toy, which was undoubtedly frustrating. "Ben, lemme see!"

"It's _mine_!" he jeered haughtily, a devilish grin spreading from ear-to-ear.

"I want one!" his sister frowned, trinkets forgotten. "Please mama! Can I have one too?"

Marshall wiggled his brows; he'd known this was coming.

"Nice work, inspector."

"Spare me," Mary all-but stuck out her tongue. "And find another set of gloves, because we aren't leaving Jolly Holly out of the fun."

In spite of his comments about thieving medical materials, he wasn't one to adopt the role of a true spoilsport, and was quick to dash into the drawers for more provisions, hoping no doctor or nurse was going to walk in. Peter just watched it all unfold, a fond-looking smirk on his face. Marshall was glad he and Mary could be with him on this monumental evening, knowing that if he'd been alone he would've had to endure endless remarks from Rachel, taking the responsibility of calming Holly on his solitary shoulders. Originally, the target had been to cheer Holly up, but it seemed they had killed two birds with one stone.

And after a few more deep breaths from Mary and a Sharpie pen from Marshall to draw faces on the blown-up gloves, the innocent bystander would never believe major surgery was about to take place for anyone in their group.

"Mine's a cowgirl!" Lizzie squealed.

"And this one's a superhero!" Ben declared as he zoomed his balloon toward the ceiling.

"Mine princess!" Holly admired the tiara and star-shaped charms Marshall had depicted on the latex.

"I didn't know you were such an artist," Mary mentioned to her husband as he left his station next to the sink and wove his arm around her back in the center of the room. "Ever think about a career on the side as some kind of a comic book editor?"

"Sweet-talker," Marshall mused, leaning to give his woman a kiss. "I'm hardly Da Vinci. My work is definitely comparable to that of cartoons."

"They are almost _painfully_ cute, Poindexter," she jabbed him, referring to the drawings. "Especially since you wrote the kids' names on the bottom. Little self-portraits for our soldiers," and she included Holly in this title.

"My personal touch," Marshall squeezed her shoulder affectionately. "A nice one, if I do say so myself."

"Something tells me you do," Mary pretended to think he was conceited, but nothing could be further from the truth.

Each glove was unique in a way that only a man of Marshall's sensitivity and tact could construct. Complete with eccentric google-eyes on all three, Ben's showed the Superman symbol, his name scribbled just above the rubber band. Lizzie's had a cowboy hat squeezed up near the inflated fingers; reminiscent of the one Delia had given her, though it obviously wasn't pink. Holly's, with the circlet and black-and-white gems, rounded out the crew beautifully.

"Look at him go!" Ben hollered, smacking his balloon like a volleyball. "Catch Lizzie!" with an almighty serve, he sent it careening in his twin's direction.

Lizzie screeched deafeningly, but got her hands up in time, only to send Superman-Ben right at Peter.

"Whoa! Man alive!" the uncle formed a fist and it was off to Mary.

She made quite a show of batting it between both hands above her head just to make the kids laugh, but once they got anxious she zeroed in on Holly.

"Here it comes Holls!"

"Eeek!" the little one was careful not to rise due to her injured leg, fingers working wildly in front of her face.

Instead of flinging Ben's balloon out again, she threw hers instead, where it went straight to her boy cousin.

"Ack! Invasion by princess! Man the life boats!"

The caricature version of Pumpkin Princess was now in Ben's arms, while Holly and Lizzie hoarded his Man of Steel glove, tossing it back and forth between them.

"Look out, dad!" a second leap into the air, and he hurled Holly's masterpiece at Marshall.

"Whoa! It's like atom bombs, spark!" 

And before Mary could get a handle on it, sketched gloves filled with air were soon zigzagging in every direction; even Peter got up and threw himself into the fray, creating an expression of great glee on Holly's face.

The girls mostly kept themselves shielded from the falling 'bombs' but every now and then one of them would yelp and toss out whichever makeshift balloon was closest. Ben was the one who really kept things interesting, bounding from end-to-end, making sure that all three inflatables were soaring through the space at the same time. Marshall, with his long, lean frame and enormous hands, could've been a professional volleyball player as well as an artist. Ben was enthralled with the way he spiked their toys with the greatest of ease.

"This one's a triple-threat, Bullet!" he bellowed after ten minutes of their game. "All hands on deck, Holly! We're about to reach critical mass!"

"Critical mass?" Mary repeated, wondering what he was talking about as her husband gathered the trio of gloves into his fingers, preparing to beat them onto the bed.

"Mass," Marshall stated boldly. "M-A-S."

When Mary continued to look confused, he merely threw her a charming wink.

"Mann-Alpert-Shannon."

How could one person be so talented and so devastatingly clever at the same time? With this realization, one that never ceased to amaze, Mary found herself behaving as crazily as the two men and three children when Marshall wound up his swing and sent the shower of balloons toward Ben, Lizzie, and Holly, where they fell in a heap trying to catch them, a great big quivering mound of bliss on a Tuesday evening.

"Score!" the mother called, lifting her arms in the touchdown symbol.

"MAS wins!" Marshall shimmied around the bed in a victory dance, clapping his hands and whooping at the top of his lungs.

Even in their exhilaration, Mary knew why her partner had ended things when he had. Holly was growing pink-cheeked and starting to cough, causing Peter to bypass a celebratory movement of his own in order to tend to her.

"You all right, pumpkin?" he asked, bending to feel her forehead. "That Uncle Marshall's pretty funny, huh? Have a drink of water…" he seized one from the bedside table at once.

"Yeah…" Mary was still breathless from being quirky. "Guys, watch her leg; make sure you're not sitting on it…"

"I'm on the chair," Lizzie demonstrated between giggles.

"I can't feel her leg…" Ben's eyes were shining beneath his mop of hair where he was sprawled on his belly at the foot of the bed, far away from any injured limbs.

Mary had to commend them for being so expertly cautious even in all the merriment. Marshall, convinced the others had things under control, was still grooving to beat the band, complete with embarrassing hand movements and hip wiggles that had Mary cracking up all over again.

"Remind me never to get you drunk," she quipped.

"Hey, now it's a party!" Marshall announced. "Right, troops?"

"Party!" all three screamed.

And, not a moment too soon, the door reopened. Mary thought for sure it would be some doctor or nurse to tell them to quiet down, or else to scold them for getting Holly all worked up the evening prior to an enormous operation.

But, no physician was going to interrupt their festivity. It was Jinx, looking positively baffled, if not flustered, at all the activity taking place.

"Hey, mom!" Mary was so surprised to see her that she actually sounded glad for their meeting. "What's up?"

Jinx neglected to answer the question, evidently thrown by everything going on. She must've expected to see them all reassuring Holly and holding vigil, but far from it. If nothing else, she had to be taken aback at the twins being present; Mary had never gotten around to telling her that they'd broken that barrier.

"What are all of you doing?" she twittered nervously with a small smile, depositing her purse on the floor. "I could hear you from down the hall!"

"Grandma! Hi Grandma!" Lizzie scurried off her chair for a hug, which Jinx was more than happy to grant.

"Oh, my sweetheart…" she crooned, lifting her oldest granddaughter into her arms and snuggling her tight against her chest. "You're getting to be such a big girl," a groan as she recognized Lizzie's weight. "You'll catch up with that brother of yours soon enough," tweaking her nose.

"Never gonna happen, Grandma," Ben wasn't so winded that he couldn't defend his honor. "Never-never."

"Oh, never is an awful long time," Jinx kept right on singing her song, always a puddle of mush in the presence of the kids. "How's my tough guy?" she rumpled his hair with the hand that wasn't supporting Lizzie.

"Good," Ben grinned, still admiring his balloon.

Leaving it at that, the older woman finally turned to her daughter, who was also riffling her fingers through Ben's hair to get the knots out. He was all sweaty from running around, and she was beginning to see the trimming he'd need before long. In any other event, Jinx would've made a beeline for Holly, but she was tied up with Peter, the cosseting father making sure she had not overdone it in all the stimulation.

"Hi honey…" Jinx twittered sweetly, Mary turning to accept the brief smooch her mother always felt necessary to give with salutations.

"Hey mom," Mary nearly repeated. "I didn't think you'd be here tonight; didn't you have a full day of classes?"

"I did, I did…" she nodded, shifting Lizzie to ensure that she wouldn't slip. "But, I didn't get much time with Holly yesterday either, and I know she's set for surgery tomorrow." After a swallow, "I'm surprised to see the kids; I didn't think you wanted them around all these sick people…"

"Yeah well, I didn't," Mary groused mildly. "But, the king of dorks who's jumping and jiving over there decided it would be good for Holly's spirits," she indicated Marshall, who had now included noises to accompany his movements, thrilling his little niece.

"I'd say it worked…" the brunette studied him tenderly, but she didn't seem completely interested. "I haven't seen Holly this excited since before she came in on Saturday – maybe not even then," a sad laugh.

"Uncle Marshall to the rescue," Mary would chalk it up to that.

Expecting Jinx to have the same opinion she did, the taller waited for her to say something else, to kick off further discussion now that she was here, but her eyes had strayed from Mary's. From one angle, it looked as though she was taken in by Marshall's war dance, but the longer Mary looked, the more she realized her mother wasn't staring at him at all. For all Mary could see, she was transfixed on the wall – her gaze faraway and blank.

"Mom?" she prodded, if for no other reason than that Lizzie was starting to trifle with her grandmother's necklace, and she couldn't be sure Jinx would approve.

But, even her name didn't recapture Jinx's concentration.

"Hey…" Mary touched her elbow this time, and this did the trick. Jinx snapped back in, blinking her way into reality. "Mom…"

"Oh…" a tinkling laugh accompanied this peculiar behavior, like it was all in fun. "I'm sorry, sweetie. I was just…checking on Holly," an erratic shake of her head. "What were you saying?"

"Nothing…" Mary started slowly, uncertainly. "I…" the chain on the necklace was now wound around Lizzie's fingers, and this prevented any further questioning for the present. "Liz…baby, come on…don't…" working her hands free. "That's Grandma's…"

"It's all right…" Jinx's reaction was predictable. "Would you like to see, angel? I can take it off…" such a spoiling woman, not unlike Delia.

"Yeah, I want to see," the little girl thought this a fine idea. "It's so pretty and gold; I like the little blue sparkles in the middle…" tapping with her nails.

"Oh, well then it'll look much better on you than me…" Jinx managed to undo the clasp around her neck and spool it into Lizzie's palm. "It matches your gorgeous eyes."

The child just giggled, bashful about garnering so much attention, but there was no denying she enjoyed it. Mary knew it was hard for her to see Marshall so focused on Holly; she'd never say anything out loud, but her mother was sure she became envious when Brandi's daughter earned all the goodwill from her treasured uncle. She was a daddy's girl, through and through.

"You go show that to Holly, okay?" Jinx designated the necklace. "You can both try it on if you want."

"Thanks Grandma…" Lizzie was grateful as she dropped back to the ground, coveting the charms on the old-fashioned relic she was holding. "Can I show you the balloon daddy made for me?"

"Of course, honey. In a little bit, okay?"

"Okay…" trotting back to the bed.

"Liz, be careful with that, all right?" Mary called at the last minute, knowing the jewelry she'd stolen from her grandmother was one of the pieces she'd saved from James. Costume regalia or not, she was aware it was still important to her. "Don't lose it."

"Okay, mama."

Again, Mary had every intention of speaking to her mother now that they'd sent Lizzie away, but her vacant stare had returned at warp speed. Now she was all-but gawking out the window on the far side of the room, looking through Mary as though she were glass – transparent and nothing more. The blonde didn't intend to stand for this; she had enough mystery in her life without Jinx adding to it.

"Mom," she raised her voice this time and it produced the desired result, because she gained the other woman's vision. "You okay?" furrowing her brow. "You seem really distracted."

"Oh…yes, of course…" but she wasn't overly credible. "Just um…a long few days, you know?"

"Yeah…"

"I-I actually wondered if I could have a chat with Marshall – just for a minute, nothing serious."

The wide jade eyes in her porcelain face went very round with this appeal, and a shaky smile presented itself, the bright red lipstick looking still more crimson against the pale skin. Mary knew the expression she was receiving right now; it was the face Jinx used when she wanted to seem guiltless, if not downright naive. On this front, it gave Mary a squirmy feeling in her stomach, because the last time someone had asked to speak to Marshall alone, they'd gotten the news about the Autoplex, which had resulted in the news about Scott.

What now?

"Whatever…" Mary made sure she still looked perceptive, that she wasn't fooled by Jinx's act. There was a very good reason she went along with it, however, and her mother was about to be made aware. "But mom, if you're lying and it is something 'serious' then I'd keep it from Peter and Holly until tomorrow. It's the first drama-free night they've had in God knows how long."

Fortuitously, Jinx was in concord, "I can handle that, angel. I'll just fetch Marshall then…"

Without giving the other woman a chance to ask any more questions, she click-clacked across the room on her high heels. Mary watched as she patted his arm and gestured toward the hallway; he gave an understanding nod and whispered a few words to Holly about why he was halting his performance and disappeared into the corridor without giving Mary a second glance.

Marshall was breathless and energized by the time he and his mother-in-law made it into the hall with the door shut. Used to closeted conversations, he wasn't expecting anything overly earth-shattering, and spoke with a goofy grin on his face, his mind still back with the kids.

"What's going on?" he proposed cheerily. "Glad you could join our little soiree…"

"Oh yes, me too darling…" Jinx avowed airily, without much consideration. "It um…it's so nice to see Holly happy…"

Marshall couldn't help but notice the obligatory nature of her phrases, and his thousand-watt grin faltered a little.

"It is, but something tells me that's not the only reason you came by," astute as ever.

"Um…no…"

Now she was twisting her hands all around, fidgeting on the spot and looking more and more uncomfortable by the minute. Though it was clear she did not want to reveal whatever she was thinking to Marshall, he knew she'd feel better once she got it all out; there was a rationale for yanking him away from the bash, something she wouldn't do unless her intentions were essential.

"Jinx, whatever's happening, don't hesitate to let me know…" laying a hand on her shoulder, Marshall spoke deeply and genuinely. "You know Mary and I will help in whatever way we can."

"Yes…I know…" the woman assured him. "And…I want you to know up front…" a hefty gulp. "I'm not telling you because I want you to keep something from Mary; you're just so much better at clarifying things…at helping her not to get too upset…"

"Well, one never knows…" Marshall shrugged, but was pleased by the faith in his competence in this area.

Jinx seemed not to hear him, "I just thought it would be better if I explained to you and then you could speak to Mary, especially after what happened between her and Brandi yesterday; I get so flustered…"

"Listen, its okay…" Marshall squeezed her upper forearm in hopes of easing her conniptions. "Whatever it is, we can work it out…"

But apparently, his mother-in-law had dithered around long enough, because the news came in a great rush.

"I can't find her."

Marshall scowled, "Can't find who?"

"Brandi!" Jinx hissed desperately. "I was here at the hospital with her last night; I left around eleven and when I spoke to Peter on the phone this morning he said she'd gone back to their house sometime after midnight and that she hadn't returned to the hospital - not today! She hasn't been here all day!"

"All right, all right…" the man got the gist now, peering down into Jinx's eyes in hopes that she would see reason. "It's one day; Peter made it sound like she wouldn't miss the surgery tomorrow for anything…"

"But, Marshall…" Jinx despaired, eyes beginning to well with tears. "I've always been able to reach her on the phone and nothing…I've been calling and calling…"

"Do you think she's hurt?" this seemed to be priority one. "Like, an accident or something?"

"Oh…I don't know…" she fretted. "But…I don't think so…I'm afraid this has to do with Scott…"

"You know about that?" Marshall hadn't been sure.

"Only recently," clearing that up. "She's been so guarded when it comes to him; I have no idea what else she might be involved in, but if she's into drugs again or…"

"Let's not go that far," Marshall decided it was best to halt those assumptions. "I agree that there's probably something else, something that isn't _just_ Scott, but I don't think he'd ever knowingly put Brandi in jeopardy. They're friends, aren't they?"

"He…he's a nice young man…" Jinx didn't appear overly at peace by saying this. "But, he could've dragged Brandi into something, although it wouldn't surprise me if she went along with him at this point; it's like she's lost the ability to think for herself…"

The dancer was really rambling now, like she had forgotten she was even talking to Marshall; it was no wonder she hadn't wanted to have this conversation with Mary. His wife would've been infuriated by all the back and forth and would've indeed made Jinx more nervous with demands for the truth.

"Listen…Jinx…" now the hand on her shoulder was much firmer, more resolute. "I completely understand that you're worried, but Brandi is an adult, and Holly is her child. If she doesn't show up tomorrow for the operation, Mary and I can talk to Stan and see if we can track her down. Does that sound okay?"

"Yes…yes…" she simmered into something more placid with the promise that something was going to be done, that action was on the imminent horizon. "I'm sorry Marshall, it's just that Brandi really hasn't been herself lately, and it's so heartbreaking to see Holly missing her…"

"You don't have to apologize," Marshall was kind. "There's been a lot going on lately. Let's just…try to enjoy the rest of the night. The kids are having a great time."

To his relief, Jinx nodded, however shakily, going along with his plan and following his lead back into the room where the children were as busy as ever. He immediately returned to the bed, putting on his mask and pretending absolutely nothing was wrong.

"Hey gang!" he called. "Who's up for a little dress-up? I think Grandma needs some pearls to go with her outfit…"

Ben groaned, but Holly was game, "Come Gramma!"

Marshall left them to their own devices, glad to have them occupied, and slunk his way right back into his wife's side. She fell into him, soothed by his warmth and his security, but she couldn't forget what had drawn him from their shared space in the first place, and she was not the most patient woman in the world.

"What's up with Jinx?" mumbling under her breath, eyes on the kids.

"Tomorrow…" Marshall was direct, closing down the opportunity to hash anything out right now. "Let's leave it until tomorrow."

Mary was in no mood to argue, but at this point was starting to become very fearful of what each 'tomorrow' would bring.

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you again to those who are reading! Today is my birthday (I turned twenty-five!) Reviews would be a lovely present! ;) **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank-you for the birthday love! Much love back!**

XXX

'Tomorrow' came faster than Mary was prepared for it. Holly's operation was scheduled for eight thirty Wednesday morning, which meant the two inspectors would just barely have enough time to get the kids off to school before booking it down to the hospital to wait during the several hours that would elapse while her tibia was being repaired. The woman did not expect to be startled awake just before six AM with the sound of a piercing, hair-raising wail echoing in waves down the hall between bedrooms.

It was truly jarring – so loud and so strident was the noise that Mary got herself tangled up in her sheets trying to leap out of bed. The scream just kept coming and coming, like a horrible siren; it penetrated her brain so crudely she couldn't even think straight.

If she could've, she would've realized it was only Lizzie – night terrors and all.

"What is that?!" she kept demanding of Marshall, who was having just as difficult a time unraveling himself from the covers. "What the hell is going on?!"

"I…I think it's Lizzie…" but she could tell by the way he stammered that he too was caught off guard, and if Marshall was scared it was definitely serious.

"What happened?!"

"I don't know…" he choked hoarsely. "I'm getting there…"

"MOM-AAAAAAA!" though typically used to her daughter's theatrics during twilight, this was a whole new ballgame.

Mary couldn't say why or how she knew, but Lizzie was nothing short of traumatized and each second the mother had to fight her sheets was a second wasted, a second she was not comforting her.

"DADDY!"

"I'm coming!" he hollered in hopes of quieting her from two rooms away.

"This damn bed; I'm gonna strangle myself!" Mary cursed.

But, she was free at last, though nothing welcome greeted her as she wrenched open the door and went tearing down the hall.

"Mom!" that was Ben's voice, not terrified like his sister's, but definitely worried.

You would never know that the two parents careening through the small space were US Marshals; they practically tripped over one another in their rush to reach their children, stalling the quest even further. Marshall inadvertently elbowed Mary into the wall as he came up behind her, her knee whacking painfully into the plaster and causing her to swear for a second time.

"Shit!" she buckled slightly, forcing Marshall to pause.

"I'm sorry…" he moaned. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah…" Mary spoke through gritted teeth, massaging her throbbing bones. "I'm fine…get Lizzie…"

But, he wasn't alone in this order, because Mary forgot her discomfort and jogged after him. She even caught up enough to be the first one into the twins' bedroom, snapping on the bedside lamp and taking in the scene before her, which was total disarray.

Lizzie was in a ball at the end of her bed, hugging her knees and sobbing all over her pajamas. Ben had joined her from his upper bunk and was, very sweetly, holding her hand, but this didn't immediately register with Mary. Lizzie didn't even look like herself, her face contorted and her cheeks stained a deep red from so many tears.

"Mom, she fell out of her bed!" Ben broadcasted once they arrived, shocking Mary even more profusely.

"What?!"

"She flipped over – she was still asleep! I don't know; I think she was dreaming!"

They didn't have another Holly on their hands, did they? The idea that two children in their family could have broken bones just from toppling out of their beds was too much to bear. But, Mary tried to talk herself off the ledge, knowing that Lizzie probably wouldn't be all curled up or even able to move if she'd suffered an injury like Holly's. It was likely that Ben was right – she'd been having an erratic nightmare and had rolled onto the ground before regaining consciousness.

"Lizzie, baby…" Mary used the most affectionate nickname she had for her oldest and did not coax her out of her fetal position, but forced her, swinging her into her arms with the greatest of ease. Once there, she caressed her back, hearing just how loud her wailing was inside her ear. "Lizzie, I'm here…" she promised. "I'm here; you're awake; everything's okay…"

"Mama's here, and so am I," Marshall contributed, kissing her hair. "What happened to my girl?"

It took several minutes before Lizzie was coherent enough to say anything, gasping and hiccupping and still bawling all over Mary's pajama top. But eventually, with Marshall stroking her ringlet curls and Mary murmuring support in her ear, she came to life and managed to blubber out what had her so unglued.

"I…I…dreamt…" the child could barely breathe. "I dreamt…Holly…Holly died when they were fixing her leg…"

It was hard for Mary to look at all the merriment they'd experienced in the hospital as negative, but it had obviously left a less than favorable impression on Lizzie, even unintentionally.

"Oh, no…" Marshall exhaled sympathetically, twirling her hair around his fingers. "That is a nightmare if ever I heard it…"

"Liz, Holly's fine…" Mary guaranteed, anything to make her chill out. "Uncle Peter is with her, and the doctors know exactly what they're doing…"

"Think about what a nice time you had with her earlier," Marshall encouraged in an almost falsely sunny way. "Didn't she seem healthy to you? She sat up and talked and played games; she'll be raring to go again before you know it…"

"B-but…tha-that's not all…" Lizzie trembled from over Mary's shoulder. "Something went…went bad…I don't know what…" her voice was so thick with tears it sounded deeper than normal. "And…and Holly died, but be…before she kept calling and calling for Aunt Brandi…"

Jesus, Mary thought. Was her child acting as some kind of weird television aerial that was in tune to the workings going on between her parents and aunt and uncle? Was it possible Holly had said something to her that had indicated to the older girl that Brandi was frequently missing? That was certainly possible.

"She called and called for her – she was real scared – but Aunt Brandi never came."

Lizzie should really go on a talk show. She could make millions with her brand of ESP. Even Marshall seemed slightly stunned. Kids definitely picked up on more than anybody realized. The question for Mary was, despite being close to Holly, why was Lizzie so torn up about the imaginary circumstances? It was not _her_ who had shouted desperately for her mother only to have no one appear.

This was answered before Mary could get around to it, which was just as well. She was busy trying to subside Lizzie's quavering little body; it was harder to hold her when she wiggled so much.

"I was afraid I wouldn't see Holly ever-ever again…" she whimpered pitifully. "Or Aunt Brandi, and I haven't seen Aunt Brandi in a long-long time anyway…"

"Yes, you did," Marshall reminded her rationally. "You saw her just a few nights ago, remember?" in the panic from the terrible dream, it was feasible that she would've forgotten. "You wanted her to play checkers…"

Lizzie was not deterred, "But…before that…" it was her turn to recall the facts. "She doesn't come over like she used to…and I miss her…"

Now Mary began to fume, along with all the other emotions she was experiencing before sunrise. There was her aching knee to contend with, the pounding of her heart when she'd heard her daughter's gut-wrenching shriek, not to mention this. And 'this' was really the worst of all. Brandi's complete lack of respect for anyone but herself was now seeping over onto Lizzie.

If that wasn't the last straw, Mary didn't know what was.

"Aunt Brandi's been very busy," Marshall fabricated before his wife could break character and start ranting about her little sister; he could see the enticement to do so in her fiery green eyes. "But, she loves you, Lizzie Lou…"

Whatever that meant in Brandi's world.

"And she loves Holly, and we're really hoping she'll be there today when they get Holly patched up, okay?"

The lighthearted mix of the real, unvarnished truth helped Mary not to blow her top. She'd been sure Marshall was going to sugarcoat things; sure he would say that Brandi _would_ be present and all would be well. But, they'd been together long enough that he knew better than that by now.

"If we see her – mom and me – we'll tell her how much you miss her. Try not to worry about that," he was the one who could see the girl's face, so he did most of the talking while Mary kept rubbing her back. "You know that dreams aren't real; you have to remember that. I know how scary they can be when you're really asleep though…"

"I fell out of my bed…" Lizzie hiccupped, as if to enforce just what an ordeal she had been through.

"I know…" her daddy patted her cheek. "I'm sorry about that. I think you're okay though. What do you think, mom?"

Mary took a quick glance up and down Lizzie's frame, the parts she could see anyway, and deduced quickly that nothing seemed to be out of place. Laying a kiss on her child's sticky flesh, she was glad to hear that she was finally coasting the high wave back to the mainland, with her sobs not quite so dramatic.

"You're not hurt," the blonde promised. "You were just startled, that's all."

Not unlike Mary and Marshall, she reflected. It would hardly have shocked Mary if the reason Lizzie had been ejected from her bed was due to near-suffocation by her sheets. After all, if two grown adults couldn't get the best of them, how could a five-year-old?

"Why don't we find Pretzel?" Marshall was obviously still hankering for a few more hours of sleep, but Mary thought he was fighting a losing battle. "…And get you all tucked back in…"

"I'm afraid to sleep!" Lizzie insisted shrilly, pulling away from her mother to shake her head, sending tears flying in all directions. "What if something happens to _me_ next?"

"Liz, they're only dreams," Mary sighed, knowing she sounded slightly exasperated, but it was getting harder and harder to convince her daughter that the nonsense that went through her head in the night was just fluff. "You can't stop sleeping because of them; you won't be able to function…"

"That means walk and talk like normal, not like a zombie," Ben suddenly spoke up from where he'd been standing mostly immobile on the carpet. "You'd be so tired you'd fall asleep at your desk at school and the teacher would get real mad!"

"I wouldn't fall asleep at school!" Lizzie clearly didn't understand in the least, just trying to get out of future punishments. "I can stay awake for a long-long time!"

"No, you can't baby," Mary was unbendable. "You would be one crabby girl, and we can't have that."

"No, I _wouldn't_!" now she came off mad, like she really did believe she could stay alert by sheer force of will; it was a pointless discussion to have with a kindergartener. "I'd be good! Really-_really_ good! Just don't make me go back to sleep!"

This made her start crying all over again, irritating Mary even further, but it was her own fault for expecting an overtired little girl to grasp the natural laws of slumber. Resigned to forgetting about it for now, she rubbed her hair and let Marshall do the rest of the work on this task.

"Honey…" now he was really buttering her up; he didn't often use such sugary-sweet terms. "Mama's right on this…" he swiped away tears that were glistening beneath her eyelids. "You won't grow if you don't get your rest. Tell you what…" Mary could tell there was a bribe coming on. "How about if we let Beatrix sleep in your bed until it's time for school? Would you like that?"

On the floor, Mary spotted that Ben seemed more intrigued by their offer than Lizzie. But, his feedback was not exactly approving. If anything, the corners of his mouth drooped downward and he scuffed his feet, scrunching his mouth, but kept quiet about how disgruntled he came off.

Mary didn't know what this was about, but chose to ignore it.

"Come on Liz…" she cajoled. "Beatrix is probably in the laundry room; she'd love a nap in your nice warm bed for an hour or two…"

"Well…" she was definitely close to being swayed, as neither parent ever let the twins have free reign with the cat at night, mostly because Ben was so careless with her. "Okay…"

"I'm on my way…" Marshall snatched the bait in a jiffy. "Come help me look for her."

With Marshall holding out his hand, Mary dropped Lizzie to her feet, and the pair of them trotted into the shadows in search of the beloved pet. The woman just hoped Beatrix would be up for snuggling; she was certainly fonder of Lizzie than of Ben, but she'd always been partial to Mary. If she was sleepy enough, however, she might go for it.

In the absence of the father-daughter duo, Mary sunk down onto Lizzie's bunk, sighing and waiting for their return so she could head back to her own bed. She didn't anticipate catching any z's at this point, but she would at least make the effort.

That was until Ben spoke up, disturbing Mary's focus and blinking into his face, which was still deep with frown lines.

"Mom?"

"Hmm…?" she hummed as she rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. "What bud?"

But, he didn't say anything else. Knowing it was unwise to leave him hanging; Mary reluctantly reopened her lids to squint in his direction. He had a hand on the top of his head, fingers working back and forth in a circular motion, still glowering in an irksome sort of way.

"What are you doing?" she became wary at once. "You look like you've been thinking too hard…"

He refuted this guess, "When Lizzie yelled I bumped my head…"

"You bumped your head?" Mary stood, striding over to him. "On what?"

"The ceiling."

"Let me see…"

Placing her fingers on top of Ben's, she removed his touch and felt around where he'd been rubbing meticulously. The lump that formed in her throat matched the one on his head; the knot was small, but definitely noticeable. Horrible visions of concussed children and blood oozing from their skulls flashed through Mary's brain, and since this was the second near-accident in the span of a few minutes, she didn't do a very good job keeping her distress in check.

"Benny…" again with the endearment, her tone instantly turned soft as she continued to press beneath his hair. "There's a bump, buddy…"

"It's okay."

"No, it isn't," Mary informed him stubbornly. "Why didn't you say something?"

"It doesn't hurt that bad…"

"But, Ben…" she knelt down and peered fussily into his clear, beautiful eyes, both of which seemed reassuringly attentive. "Look at me. I know you're a big boy and you're very daring and all that, but you need to tell me or dad if you get hurt…"

"I was just trying to help Lizzie…" he whispered almost shamefully.

"I know…" Mary breathed, suddenly feeling a little badly herself for having downgraded his heroics. "You're sweet. I want to put some ice on your head though, all right? Come with me; we'll see if dad and your sister found Beatrix…"

Knowing now that they were going to be up for the remainder of the day – or at least Mary and Marshall were – she allowed Ben ahead of her, stroking his hair but being careful not to press too hard. Thankfully, they ran into Marshall and Lizzie on the way, Lizzie lugging a half-dead Beatrix by her stomach into the bedroom.

"Where are you guys going?" Marshall wondered, peering over his shoulder as they passed.

"Never mind…" Mary knew it was quicker to allow him to tend to his little girl and later explain what had gone down with Ben, who never made such a fuss. "Take care of her, won't you?"

"Sure…" but he still sounded curious, and Mary knew that as soon as Lizzie was settled he would be joining her.

Out in the kitchen, Mary hit the light that shone over the sink, Ben practically tailing her while she rooted around in the freezer, coming up with a handful of ice cubes. She dumped them on the counter, hoping the heat blasting from the air vents wouldn't melt them before she could get a plastic bag.

"Why don't you have a seat Ben?" she nodded toward one of the barstools. "I don't want you going back to bed with this; it'll get your pillow all wet."

Silently, her son climbed into the chair, situating his behind into the seat, legs dangling where he began kicking them back and forth. Once Mary had located a Ziploc, she swept the ice inside and sealed it, pressing around the top to remove the air. Journeying toward Ben, she placed the sack to the knob pulsating lightly beneath his locks, and then allowed him to take over.

"Hold that there for a minute, okay?" she instructed. "It'll keep it from swelling," or so she hoped.

Ben just nodded, Mary leaning with her back against the counter and wondering how many other parents in the world were doing what she was this morning – consoling one child who was hysterical and treating another for a head abrasion. Only in the Mann-Shannon household could they have so much going on all at once, but she'd expect nothing less from a residence where two US Marshals dwelled.

After a moment or two, Mary realized that Ben was being strangely quiet. At any other time, he would've been bouncing off the walls, begging to get up early and watch tacky cartoons. For some reason, Mary didn't think his tight-lipped attitude had to do with his wound, a point he proved in due time.

"Mom?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you ever let Beatrix sleep in my bed?"

Mary opened her mouth to say something, but realized quickly that she didn't know what her words would consist of. What legitimate retort could she come up with that wouldn't hurt Ben's feelings? She could tell by his eyes that he probably already knew what the reason was. Frankly, Mary had thought he'd known for a long time. She just hadn't known that it bothered him.

"It's because she doesn't like me," he concluded, casting his orbs to the ground.

"Well, Ben…"

Nothing she could tell him – nothing honest, anyway – would actually contest what he'd just decided. Mary would've loved to have said that Beatrix did like him, but it really wasn't true. She had always taken great care to steer clear of Ben because he was so loud and grabby, contrary to his calmer, more lucid sister.

One the one hand, she wondered why he even cared. Beatrix was just a cat. On the other hand, he reminded her a little too closely of herself at the moment – she, who had been accused of having a niece who was less than fond of her. It was this realization that made her proceed with more delicacy than she'd originally planned.

"Ben…" saying his name again. "Cats are finicky. Some of them get scared by a lot of noise and they're independent – that means they don't always need people to be happy."

"But, I just want to play with her," he insisted, lowering his ice until Mary motioned for him to put it back on his head. "I need a sidekick!"

"I thought your sister was your sidekick," Mary mused with a smirk.

He shriveled up at this reminder, like dragging Lizzie along with him was a habit he engaged in because it was good for his twin, and not necessarily good for him. Mary knew he didn't feel so strongly about it; Lizzie was his best friend and he loved being able to take care of her, but his mother knew that sometimes he wanted to do his own thing without worrying about playing savior.

"She is…" but, he didn't sound thrilled, and Mary was swift in making him perk up.

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded," it was early. "I didn't mean you shouldn't have another sidekick. You're always nice to Lizzie; that's enough for me."

"Yeah…and Beatrix likes her better than me," he grumbled darkly.

"You might have to try going easy on her – Beatrix, I mean," Mary recommended. "You know how I'm always telling you to be gentle?"

"Yeah."

"Well, it may take awhile, but if you're careful and don't throw her around every time you see her, she'll start warming up to you."

As soon as Mary made this suggestion, she realized it was not all that dissimilar from what Stan had said to her regarding Holly. If she softened, if she alleviated the outside annoyances – mainly Brandi – than Holly would come around. Why did the world operate under such rosy circumstances? Why did those with sharp edges or overactive psyches have to work so much harder to gain the trust and confidence of those around them – human or otherwise?

"You know, we're not so different, Ben – you and me," Mary threw out there as she walked over to him and took a peek at his abrasion. "People are always telling me if I'd cool out than everybody would think I was the cat's pajamas."

"The cat's pajamas?" he didn't know that expression. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Nothing," Mary chuckled, turning into Marshall with her cheesy viewpoints. "Just that…well…people think I'd be better off if I weren't such a grouch."

Ben blinked benignly at her, almost in a puzzled sort of way. Her fault was that she too unfeeling or acerbic in the eyes of the public, whereas Ben's was that no one got to know him enough to realize there was more to his personality than being wired like a circus performer.

"You're not a grouch," her son suddenly whispered, like he'd never heard anything so ridiculous.

Mary smiled and scratched her nails through his dark hair.

"Thanks. You're probably the only person who thinks so, but thanks." Before they could develop this terminology any further, she realized his skull was as iced as it was going to be. "Come on, now…" lifting him underneath his arms and onto the floor. "Back to bed for a bit. Dad and I have to head back to the hospital as soon as we drop you and Lizzie off at school."

"I hope Aunt Brandi is there…" Ben voiced as he sauntered back to his bedroom. "Maybe then Holly would be real happy."

"I hope so too, bud…" Mary intoned, watching him. "Because you're exactly right."

Without arguing about grabbing a few more winks, he went on his merry way down the hall, Mary slightly if sadly amused that he had things like cats and hapless aunts on his mind. He must've bumped into Marshall on the way, because Mary heard the lower, manlier voice sound before her husband materialized out of the shadows.

"Is Ben okay?" he flicked his thumb over his shoulder as he wandered back into the kitchen where Mary had sunk onto a barstool of her own. "He looked like he was trying to hold his head on…"

"Oh, he just whacked it – probably sat up too fast in bed…" she relayed absently, now fiddling with her cell phone, which she had left out on the counter. "I gave him some ice; he'll live."

"All right…" he stopped behind her and snooped over her shoulder, peeping through the dusk at the lighted screen on her Blackberry. "What are you looking at?"

"Three texts from my mom…" Mary mumbled, rubbing her forehead between her temples and already feeling weary. "No sign of Brandi."

Something about the kids' belief – or else hope – in their aunt's devotion to Holly had perhaps made Mary think her baby sister really would come through. She still had a few hours to show up at the hospital, of course, but Mary had the sinking feeling that-that was not going to happen. Only now, it wasn't just Holly who was going to be disappointed, but Ben and Lizzie as well.

"Bummer…" Marshall planted a kiss on her hair for good measure. "But, Brandi's always late, right? For all we know, she could come racing in two minutes after Holly's wheeled into surgery."

"Don't bet on it," Mary groused. "I don't know how much longer I can stomach this shit, Marshall…" now she covered her eyes, wondering how on earth she was going to get through the remainder of the day with such an early, stressful start. "It was one thing to say that I could leave Brandi in the dust when it was just between the two of us, but even the kids know something's fishy, and it's got Lizzie all riled up…"

"I know…" the man was as sympathetic as ever. "It's not fair. I wish I had a better solution than that."

"That's not so much a solution as it is a fact," Mary contradicted.

"Touché," if she could've seen Marshall, he probably would've been grinning.

"I don't know…" she shook her head side-to-side. "One day at a time I guess, right?" though she wasn't really a fan of this option. "Wasn't that what we used to say before the twins were born? One day at a time?"

"That we did," Marshall agreed. "I would say it applies here as well."

"What I really hate…" Mary hadn't anticipated confiding this final morsel, but now was as good a time as any, even as she stood up and resigned herself to brewing coffee before the sun was even up. "…Is I've been telling Brandi for the past three years that she's the best mom Holly could have."

"And now?"

"And now all I hear is Brandi shouting that everyone knows Holly's better off without her. The goal was not for that to be true."

XXX

**A/N: Lizzie flipping out might be getting a little bit old, but I hope not! And, oh Brandi…probably not very mysterious where this part is going…**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: I hope all the Brandi drama isn't getting redundant! This story is full of it!**

XXX

Near as Mary could tell, Lizzie's apparitions about Holly losing her life and Brandi failing to be present was turning out to be a very bad omen – at least the latter portion. The party that gathered in the waiting room didn't voice what they were all thinking, but it was obvious on every face that they all believed the exact same thing – Brandi was not coming, which would mean she had gone over twenty-four hours since seeing Holly last.

Nobody was able to visit with Holly while she was being prepped for surgery, something that Mary could've expected. They only saw Peter for milliseconds as they arrived before he was whisked away to sit with his daughter in her final moments of realization before the anesthesia kicked in. This gave Mary far too much time to analyze the features of her family and extended family, all of which showed tension and anxiety – and somehow, she didn't think these expressions had anything to do with Holly.

Jinx wouldn't sit still, not even for a moment. She bustled around the pediatric waiting room, probably annoying the few other patrons who were sitting with them. Every few seconds, she would tug her phone from inside her pants pocket to check for messages, which was to no avail. When she wasn't toiling over her voicemail, she paced around and around the uncomfortable grey couch, rubbing her hands and looking like she might be clutching a rosary to say a prayer.

Marshall, in contrast, was perfectly stationary. He sat like a statue in one of the chairs, but seemed to be grimacing indefinitely. Only Mary knew it was not really a grimace, but a look of deep concentration. She could only imagine all the possibilities that were flying through his head – Marshall was an expert 'fixer' and he wanted very much to be able to pin down a resolution to the dilemma looming threateningly over their heads.

Rachel stood with her arms crossed almost clear on the other side of the room, as if she did not belong with the rest of the group, but her face was fairly impassive. She appeared neither incensed nor aloof. Though Mary was far from her biggest fan, it seemed she was realizing that her method of trying to support Peter was less than successful. She could also sympathize with feeling the outcast; no one but her from Peter's immediate family was present. The other woman almost wanted to ask her to come a little closer, but couldn't make herself do it.

Mary herself was torn between striking up conversation with Rachel, telling Jinx to sit her ass down, and dragging Marshall aside to demand he call Stan and get some specifics on where Brandi might be. For all she knew, however, her husband had already done this. He'd explained the night before that he'd promised Jinx he would enlist their boss if it came to that. So instead, Mary just leaned on the back of the chair the man was sitting in, trying to decide which act to take first.

All three choices were obliterated quite quickly once Peter finally returned. He'd been gone a long time, and Mary couldn't help wondering if he'd contained himself for a reason, if he'd known what fate was waiting for him and he'd held off facing it as long as possible.

It was written in his eyes when he walked through the double doors, nearly scraping his head on the sparkling silver tinsel hanging overhead. Everyone turned to stare, knowing the appropriate questions would consist of Holly and only Holly – how did she go down, how did she seem, how long did they say it would take? But, these were on the mind of no one, and Peter didn't have it in him to pretend.

"She's not here?"

Mary's heart wavered dangerously hearing how dejected and disappointed he sounded. For the first time since Holly had been admitted, she felt sadness instead of fury when it came to Brandi. They'd all been so worried about the little girl; none of them had really taken into consideration how Peter was coping without his wife – other than being extra-stressed due to her tirades and frequent deficiencies.

It was Rachel who answered the obvious inquiry.

"No."

It was hard to know what to expect, but for some reason, Mary thought Peter would just shake his head or make feeble excuses – she wouldn't have minded either. Today was about getting him and Holly through, and he could say whatever he wanted to manage it. But, only one of those reactions came to pass. Peter did wag his head, but he immediately blinked furiously at the ground and made an odd sort of snuffling noise, one that made Mary's blood run cold in her veins.

"Ex…excuse me…"

Before Mary could register what was happening, Peter had fled, skirting the mournful faces and vanishing through an exterior door, which led to a kind of upper-floor balcony-courtyard. Why he would go outside without a coat when it was so cold could only mean one thing – he was desperate to get away, to break down as they had yet to see him do.

"Oh dear…" Jinx squeaked in a high-pitched voice before she finally halted her pacing and flung herself onto the sofa. "Oh, Brandi…"

Mary didn't know what her mother meant by this, but was simply glad not to hear a pack of fairytales toting Brandi's innocence. The dismay from the older woman was painful, but at least it was authentic.

Rachel said nothing else, but seemed to be contemplating whether she should go after her brother. In any other event, Mary would've promoted it, but not knowing what Rachel's brand of 'helping' would consist of, she couldn't be sure it was such a great idea.

Marshall, meanwhile, had turned around in his chair to face his wife – tranquil, but apprehensive too.

"How do you see this?" he murmured quietly, purposely leaving out the other two ladies. "Do you think something happened to her, or…?"

Mary cut him off, "To who? To Brandi?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

But, Mary knew what her gut was telling her – every instinct she possessed said this was Brandi's own doing, that she was cognizant and in full awareness of staying away. Perhaps she refused to believe her sister was hurt or incapacitated because it would get her off the hook, and Mary hated that, but it didn't seem likely. Wherever Brandi was, she was there by choice – the elder was sure of it.

"You think this is a voluntary thing?" Marshall continued to whisper, Jinx's fingers firing off texts at super speed over on the couch. "She bummed off the operation on purpose?"

It sounded bleak, but Mary did, "Yes…" she insisted, leaning forward onto her elbows to be closer to him from where she stood at the backside of the chair. "Maybe if she hadn't been gone in all these spurts for the past four days – if she hadn't been making Peter's life hell for the two months before that…"

"Do you think it's probable that she got involved with someone a long time ago – someone she thought she could trust, whether it was advisable or not – and this someone put her in peril without warning?"

Mary knew exactly what he meant, but she didn't warm to the thought in the least. Marshall was suggesting another Chuck scenario, which made Mary so sick she could've lost her breakfast right there on the floor. The notion that Brandi had roped herself in with those types of people, who had possibly turned on her, was debilitating.

"I…" and the blonde did not know how to express what she was thinking. "I…I don't know…" was all she could say.

What sort of selections were these?

Brandi could be tied up with Scott – or some stranger – by her own volition, possibly fretting about missing Holly's operation, but unwilling to forego whatever mission she was on.

She could be acting completely negligent, with or without cohorts, totally uncaring about whatever occurred with her daughter, maybe even sleeping in on a Wednesday morning.

Or, she'd been snowed by some pack of goons she'd believed lawful, who had now taken her for their own. And done something – something what? Kidnapped her? Held her hostage? Maybe even killed her?

No. She wasn't so far gone. She hadn't been so stupid. She wasn't dead.

Marshall must've been able to see the wheels spinning in Mary's head; his last proposition had apparently made her think twice. To avoid her brooding, he got to work.

"I should call Stan?"

Mary swallowed hard. Whatever the reason, selfish or otherwise, it could not be denied that Brandi had not been seen or heard from by anyone since midnight on Monday when she'd left Peter at the hospital. It was now nine o'clock on Wednesday. They could officially deem her 'missing.'

"I…I guess you'd better…" Mary spluttered almost incoherently. "I really…I want to go and talk to Peter…" she gestured toward the window where he had his back to them.

"Are you sure?" Marshall didn't look influenced that this was a smart idea.

"Better out there with him than in here trying to field Rachel…" she was afraid the mentioned was going to start bubbling over any second. "After all, it is my lunatic sister who bailed on him…"

She knew this view was going to earn her a scolding, but she didn't care. It was like there were snakes writhing in her stomach; the guilt was so pronounced. Mary knew, on a rational level, that she was not responsible for Brandi being so reckless and immature, but there was nothing to stop the remorse practically eating her alive. She'd as much as raised Brandi, and the result was some slipshod, half-assed woman who came to the party only when it benefitted her. The fact that she could've turned out so foolishly under Mary's watch was devastating in its own way.

"You know this has nothing to do with you…" Marshall advocated predictably, even as he pulled out his phone. "You can't control everyone, partner. You've done everything you can for Brandi – and more. The rest was up to her."

Mary just shrugged, "I need to talk to Peter," she repeated. "Let me know what Stan says."

Seeing that she was not to be persuaded, Marshall agreed, "Okay."

Not up for additional causes for why Brandi's lack of consideration wasn't her fault, Mary abandoned her post, which neither Jinx nor Rachel seemed to notice, and tried to tread across the room, all-purpose and full of poise. She even managed to grab Peter's jacket before ascending, though neglected to take up her own. Halfway to the peripheral door, she realized her legs were shaking like they were made of Jell-O. The sensation was unfamiliar, at least in the current climate, because it said to Mary that she might be concerned about her sister.

She wasn't concerned. She was infuriated. That was all there was to it.

Her nerves only mounted as she pushed open the hatch and was met with a bitter, swirling gust of wind. The balcony was fairly small and faced one of the back parking lots, so it wasn't an eyesore on the front architecture of the hospital. Below, Mary could see other identical terraces jutting out from the lower floors. Three plastic tables were scattered about the space; one of the chairs had toppled over, probably due to the blustery breeze.

Peter, Mary was heartbroken to see, was rubbing his arms for warmth and facing the street – intentionally, no doubt, so those inside could not make out his face. The wind whipped her hair, obscuring her vision, making her wish she could pull on her brother-in-law's coat, but knew that was not why she'd brought it. The sky was grey and gloomy, only the faintest hint of weak sunshine glinting on the horizon. Cloud cover prevented any excess warmth from penetrating their corner – cruelly ironic on today of all days.

Unsure whether Peter had heard her come out or not, Mary approached cautiously, and her footsteps seemed to alert him, though he did not turn around.

"Peter…?" she pressed tentatively, inching still closer.

Even though she had suspected Peter was hiding for a very specific reason, she was still startled when he rotated to face her with tears streaming down his cheeks. Definitely troubled now, Mary tried to think fast – at the very least, tried to keep the fact that she was stunned from showing on her face. She couldn't say for certain that she'd ever seen Peter cry before, but she ought to be used to men that showed their feelings. Marshall was no stranger to shedding a tear or two when the moments called for it.

"I…I just…I brought your coat…" Mary stated lamely, holding out the fabric for him to take.

Wordlessly, he accepted and wrapped it around himself, which gave Mary an opportunity to nudge herself up another few feet so she was right in front of him.

"I…you should know that…Marshall's working with Stan – our boss – to try and track Brandi down, and US Marshals…" she felt like she was rambling, and her voice sounded strangely loud in the open air. "…US Marshals, that's what we do," stumbling over her words. "Finding people is our specialty."

It was hard to know whether this announcement would be of much comfort. What was Peter afraid of? Why, exactly, was he so upset? There could be hundreds of reasons, of course, and Holly was probably at the top of the list, but citing the fact that Brandi was not around had seemed to set him off. Was he scared for Brandi's safety? For Holly's displeasure? For his own sanity?

"This…this is such a mess…" he finally croaked, shoving his palms into his eyes and mopping them up, which only made them bloodshot. "How can I not know where my own wife is? How did we get here?"

"I wish I could tell you," Mary affirmed uselessly.

"She _promised_."

"Yeah…"

"She swore up and down to me that she would not miss today! I know she's flighty, but I never thought she would lie about something like that! This is her daughter we're talking about!"

Mary didn't think it would be very appropriate to say that Brandi's loyalty was pretty skewed, and using Holly as means to get her to fly right wouldn't have the same effect on her as it would on most people. That was becoming more and more apparent with each passing day.

"Was Holly really torn up?" Mary decided to ask, though this probably wouldn't improve Peter's disposition. "Since Brandi didn't make it?"

He bobbed his head slowly, "Yes and no. Underneath, I think she was crushed just like I knew she would be. In some ways though, I'm not sure she expected anything better."

The way he looked Mary in the eye after this account was almost chilling. He seemed so disillusioned by his own words, by his own position.

"She…she's three – not even. And she's already figuring out that she can't rely on her mom for anything."

It was almost like Mary heard Jinx in her head – not _anything_. But, Jinx was not here. And if she were, it would likely just incense Peter to hear such rationalizations made for the woman who had left them all in limbo. Then again, Jinx was certainly proving more and more that she believed Brandi's behavior to be unacceptable. From what Marshall had told Mary about the conversation they'd had the night before, she was starting to realize that some things didn't deserve any kind of plea.

And if even Jinx was not jumping on board the pity train? Brandi's actions must indeed be reprehensible, whatever they were.

"She should be here for Holly," Mary concluded, though this seemed a very scrawny argument in light of everything Peter must be feeling. "For Holly and for you."

"I…you can…you can leave me out of it…" Peter insisted distractedly, but she wouldn't hear of it.

"How can I?" the blonde shot back, not trying to sound angry, merely forceful. "Peter, you're treading water. You've been on the edge of your seat with a kid who was deathly ill, and you've been doing it all by yourself; I don't see how I can 'leave you out of it…'"

"But…but I haven't been _all_ by myself…" as gallant as ever. "It's not as if I'm not grateful for what you and Marshall and Jinx have done, not to mention my sister driving in…"

"It isn't the same," Mary didn't want to make him feel worse; she wanted him to see that his loss was just as important as Holly's, that he had a right to feel slighted – very slighted indeed. "If it were one of my kids fighting for their life and Marshall wasn't with me, I don't think I'd give a shit who tried to make me feel better, no matter how well intentioned. He would be who I wanted. _Every_ single time."

This, if nothing else, made Peter take pause, although it seemed to have the exact effect that Mary was _not_ going for. The desertion of his wife seemed to sink, hard and heavy, onto his shoulders, like the weight of the world crashing on his head. It wasn't all her doing – the thoughts had probably been lurking since the beginning – but it was Mary who had pulled them out, she who was making him deal.

His timbre was foggy when he eventually spoke up, "You don't suppose…?" it was apparent he wanted to come off disbelieving, but couldn't entirely manage. "I mean…you don't think…someone…has a hold of her, do you?"

As appalling as this scenario was, at least in its throes it was harder to blame Brandi. It was a sad life they'd come to lead where a hostage situation looked better than a woman ditching her child of her own free will.

"I don't know what to think, Peter," Mary shivered as the wind picked up again, wishing she'd been intelligent enough to snatch her own outerwear. "I know that after we traded punches…"

"Figuratively, of course?"

"Yeah…" she waved that away. "After that fight we had on Monday, Brandi called me up that night and tried to make nice. Sort of."

"And?"

"And…she had the audacity to ask me if I'd still be coming to the hospital to see Holly, and she specifically mentioned 'tomorrow' which would've been yesterday."

"Forgive me…" Peter shut his eyes and slowly opened them again, trying to make sense of her words. "I've…not gotten a ton of sleep lately. Can you run that by me again?"

Mary decided to go for a shortened version, "I talked to Brandi Monday night. She wanted to make sure I would still visit Holly, to which I said of course. She pinpointed whether or not I'd be there the next day, which was Tuesday. I was, and she wasn't."

"She hasn't been back since then – not since she talked to you," Peter finished in a hushed tone. "Do you think that means…?" his eyes grew wider and more confused the longer he attempted to put the pieces together. "Was she _planning_ on taking off? And she was seeing to it that you were covering for her, that there would be someone with Holly when she wasn't?"

Mary thought he had cracked the code, but didn't want to sound too firm. This man had enough uncertainties in his life as it was, and one more would not help.

"It's just a guess," she declared passively. "Like I said, Stan is looking into it."

"But…" Peter was still grasping at straws, the moisture on his cheeks beginning to dry with the constantly raging airstream. "If she knew she was leaving, why would she promise me that she'd be here today? She sounded so adamant; I never thought she'd skip out on the operation…"

"I don't know," the inspector felt as though she'd said this far too much lately. "I…I really don't know."

The veracity of what was going on seemed to be dawning on Mary as much as it was dawning on Peter. She'd been so consumed with rage in the last few days that there had been precious little time to digest the idea that Brandi might one day leave for good and not return. Just the thought was too final for Mary to contemplate. Hadn't James taught her anything?

And there was still the alternative – did Brandi _want_ to be with her child and for some reason could not? Mary felt herself grow even colder when she allowed herself to envision her sister all mounted and tied up, as she had been, when Spanky and his gang had abducted her. Brandi wasn't as strong as Mary. She wouldn't survive something like that.

"You sure you don't know anything?" Peter prompted, even when his sister-in-law had just said she was clueless. "You look like…I don't know…you had an epiphany or something…"

Hardly. The blinding understanding undoubtedly showing on Mary's face had to do with picturing CSI-like conditions for Brandi. She didn't know how that had arranged her features, but it probably wasn't pleasant.

"No…" she gulped once, and then another time to ensure that she would be able to speak logically. "I just…I have…preconceived notions…" though she didn't feel guilty about it. "Brandi's…known for getting mixed up with the wrong crowd."

"Yeah," Peter gave another sniffle, even if it was hard to tell at this point whether his nose was running from his little episode or the chilly weather. "She told me what you went through when we first started dating. That's rough…"

"Rough is one word for it," Mary scoffed without thinking.

"I didn't mean to downplay it…"

"No," Mary maintained that her jeer wasn't his doing. "I know what you meant. Honestly though, I always thought you were a bit of a pushover, going for a girl who admitted to you that she'd tried to traffic a major drug deal, only to have her sister end up wrapped in chains in a crappy basement."

Understandably so, Peter looked taken aback by such a brash, brutal confession. Mary did not know what made her say such a thing. She hardly ever spoke about what had happened to her as a result of Brandi's issues, not even to Marshall, so why would she bring it up to Peter? She'd been joking when she'd called him a 'pushover' and he'd seemed to get that, but the blankness, the sheer awe in his wide eyes proved he was nothing short of bowled over.

"It was a long time ago," Mary hurried to cover up, not liking how astounded he appeared. "Forget I said anything…"

"No, I mean…" Peter was going to try and smooth this over. "I guess I was just thinking…" shaking his head, as though to clear it. "If whatever Brandi's tangled up in is as awful as that, well…" he couldn't pretend to be blasé, even when he tried. "We're all in trouble."

Now Mary felt terrible. She hadn't meant to make him consider something like _that_.

"Peter, I honestly…" she sighed, feeling exceptionally tired due to her early start with the twins and their woes. "I'm sorry. I…I'd actually be surprised if that's what's going on. I know Brandi, and this smells like some convoluted scheme she's trapped in. Something tells me she's staying away because she…"

"Because she wants to?" the man interspersed. "Much better."

The sarcasm was hardly lost on Mary, and she couldn't blame him for spewing it. As the breeze grew fiercer, her ears and fingers began to go numb, much like her outlook on Brandi's motives. The rhyme or reason for where she was seemed less and less excusable the longer they hashed it out. Peter's coming undone due to the umpteenth time his wife had failed to be present for Holly showed that they were running out of a plausible defense.

"I'm sure sorry about all this…" he expressed suddenly, taking his turn at granting apologies, not that they were needed. "All…_this_…" gesturing in a circle around his face, indicating the tears. "It's just been…well…" a sardonic laugh escaped. "A tough go."

"You don't have to tell me," Mary assured him. "I hope you know I'm on your side here."

"Well, I couldn't help but notice, but a man has to wonder, given that Brandi is your sister…"

"Family devotion only stretches so far," the blonde picked up snidely. "You're not gonna hear me condoning what Brandi has put you and Holly through, even though I should've tried harder to get her to straighten out her life."

"This isn't your fault," Peter whispered through the wind, sounding exactly like Marshall. "Brandi is an adult; you can't blame yourself for her shortcomings."

Mary hunched her shoulders indifferently, but she didn't believe him.

"Thanks. I guess. Right now, I just want to focus on Holly – let Marshall and Stan figure out the rest."

"I'm with you there," Peter stuffed his hands in his coat pocket this time, dancing a little on the spot to keep himself heated. "The sooner Holly's out of surgery, the better."

"Did she do all right with the anesthesia and everything?" Mary wanted to know, unable to believe that she hadn't queried about this before now. "I know she's had a lot of needle-pricks in the last few days, and after seeing Lizzie completely flip her lid after one shot, I can't imagine how Holly's faring…"

Peter chuckled lightly, "It didn't go too badly," he disclosed. "They gave her something to help her relax through the IV line she already had in, so then she wasn't quite so sensitive about the second one. There were a few tears, but I really think it would've been worse if they hadn't already sedated her a little bit beforehand…"

"Good," Mary was glad to hear this. "They give you an estimate on how long it'll take them to put the rod in?"

"A few hours…" Peter sighed tiredly. "So, it'll be a long morning."

"What's her recovery look like?" normally, Mary wouldn't be so clerical about the whole thing, but the nature of the facts seemed to be helping Peter not to fixate on anything too dramatic.

"She'll be in a wheelchair," it was obviously hard for him not to look dispirited by this. "Since she's too little to manage crutches. They said the first few days after surgery can be pretty painful, but if she does well and manages to kick the meningitis, they may let her go home this weekend."

"That soon?" Mary was flummoxed. "With a rod in her leg and everything?"

"I think they may take the rod out eventually. I don't know. It's been hard to process everything they've been telling me."

Mary stopped her interrogation there, trying to envisage miniscule Holly confined to a wheelchair, but if it got her out of the hospital than she was all for it. But, on the flip side, what would 'home' be looking like for Holly without Brandi, assuming she did not make an appearance before that point? Peter and his daughter rattling around that enormous mansion without Brandi traipsing through it was miserable to think about. For that matter, how would Holly manage all the stairs if she wasn't going to be able to walk?

Deciding that this could be left for a later date, Mary made a brave attempt at a smile and even extended her hand, running it along Peter's back where she stood, hoping to show her support.

"Sounds like she's gonna come through though," she emphasized as kindly as she knew how. "If there's anything Marshall or I can do to make things easier once she's sprung…I hope you'll let us know."

"Thanks," the drained man even came back with a half-smile of his own. "I might have to take you up on that."

XXX

**A/N: So, Peter got to have a bit of a meltdown – who can blame him? I imagine Brandi's actions don't seem too surprising at this point!**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Not much to say upfront on this one! Hope anyone who is reading is enjoying!**

XXX

If there was any bright spot in what would have ordinarily have been a very worrisome Wednesday, it was that Holly came through her tibia operation with what the doctor claimed to be 'flying colors.' Peter was as ecstatic as he could be with everything else swirling around him, prepared to burst into tears of joy rather than those of trauma; he hugged his sister and everyone in the vicinity before calming down long enough to ask when his daughter would be awake. His relief was palpable and Mary was glad to see him shining so vibrantly, if wearily, because he knew the news would be much better shared if Brandi were present.

Even though the physicians claimed it could be over an hour before Holly came out of the anesthesia, Peter insisted on sitting with her anyway, probably because he was fretting over how much pain she was going to rise with. Mary and Marshall joined him at his request while Rachel went out to track down something decent for lunch, something that was not cafeteria food. Marshall put his search for Brandi on hold, unable to mar Holly's quiet hospital room with such a quest. In any case, Stan was up to his ears with Delia trying to pin the woman down; he'd call if he knew anything.

"This cast is as big as she is…" Peter murmured over the beeping monitors from his often-occupied side of the bed, taking a peek under Holly's blankets. "How can I be sure she won't tip over just from the sheer weight of the thing?"

Marshall actually laughed, "I'm sure it's not as heavy as it looks. Once she masters the use of her wheelchair, I'm sure she'll be flying – nothing's going to be able to hold her down."

"Ugh, can you imagine what Ben is going to be like when he sees the spokes?" Mary forecasted, happy to keep things light, to keep her mind off Brandi. "He'll be begging for a ride and will crash the thing in two seconds flat."

"Hard to blame a kid for that," Peter understood. "But, my guess is that Holly isn't going to be out of it too often except to sleep. It's really a shame too; we _just_ got her potty-trained so I hope she doesn't revert…"

Mary hadn't thought of this aspect, but she supposed Peter was right. You couldn't fault Holly if she had to go back to diapers for awhile especially since, having been in the hospital, she wasn't getting up to use the bathroom anyway. Still, it was tough on a child's psyche to have progressed from 'baby' to 'big girl' only to have it snatched at a moment's notice.

"She'll be a trooper," Marshall foresaw, always with the optimism. "I've been very inspired by the way she's wended through the treacherous roads of infirmity and injury."

"Inspired, huh?" his wife quipped devilishly. "You're not gonna break into song are you, doofus?"

"You know, I just might…" he puffed out his chest, eyebrows raised. "At last count, Holly rather enjoyed my melodious renditions."

"Yeah…dear old dad can only carry a tune in a bucket," Peter leaned his chin in his had semi-morosely, using the fingers on the other to flatten the child's hair as she slept on. "Thanks for being here guys. Really…"

"You don't have to keep thanking us," Mary disrupted his thought processes quite swiftly. "And, you really shouldn't, because it's starting to make you look like a big wuss."

"Charming…" Marshall mumbled. "But, she does speak true."

It seemed Peter had been washing them in gratitude ever since he'd rolled up his sleeves and vowed to be strong after the small incident outside. Mary wouldn't even define it as an 'incident' considering he'd quit crying the minute she'd appeared and fallen all over himself to show his appreciation in the hours since. But, between their being a pair of warm bodies for Holly and their influence with law enforcement when it came to rooting around for Brandi, Peter was feeling very in debt to their contribution.

"I don't think you'll be squashing my thanks when I tell you what I have cooking," Peter voiced suddenly in the midst of the silence, almost as an afterthought.

"What's that?" Marshall prodded while his fellow inspector appeared intrigued.

The shorter man shook his head, like he hadn't expected either of them to hear him, "Nothing. We can talk about it later."

"Or, we can talk about it now," Mary butted in, showing that patience was not her strong suit. "Whatever it is, Marshall and I can handle it."

The look her husband threw her direction said he knew she was trying to stay busy, to take anything anybody tossed her direction because it meant she didn't have to dwell about Brandi. Allowing all the possibilities about what had occurred with her little sister to enter her brain meant she would become irritable, edgy, maybe even frightened. None of those were emotions that Mary welcomed with open arms, and she wasn't about to start now.

Nonetheless, Peter didn't bite, "Really. It's nothing we need to mull over right now. Let's see what happens with…" the tiniest of gaps before he tried to go on naturally. "Let's see what happens with Brandi first," he finished, hoping his speech sounded run of the mill.

Neither Mary nor Marshall knew where he was headed with his intentions, but if he wanted to leave it there, then they could only respect it. Mary, in particular, meant every word of her offer; she wanted to do anything she could for Holly now that it was apparent Brandi would never put her needs first. Something seemed to have shifted deep inside the older sibling since their quarrel, even before Brandi had taken off. The need to aide would probably alter as well in the days to come – to make room for more resentment, even more disquiet, but for now, Mary was just glad to feel productive.

"It's hard to put on a brave face for your kids," Marshall donated his wisdom in reply to his brother-in-law's mention of his estranged wife. "You've really been a champ – in case no one told you lately."

"Well, Rachel tells me quite a bit," Peter shared, echoing this sentiment with something between merit and exasperation. "I think she figures if she pumps me full of praise like some little kid in school with their gold stars, I won't start drinking."

This wasn't the first time he'd brought up his sister's obsession with his sobriety, but it still made Mary slightly uncomfortable. She had faith in Peter, but if this was any kind of affirmation of blame, she couldn't pretend she wasn't alarmed. Peter falling off the wagon was the last thing they needed.

"You can put away the surreptitious glances, folks," he teased out of the blue, obviously noticing Mary and Marshall exchange looks. "I'm clean. Thank God for AA and my sponsor."

"Your sensibility is admirable," Marshall said at once. "I'm sure Jinx wouldn't mind chatting with you either; you do have that common ground, after all…"

Only Marshall could talk about two former drunks bonding like it was no big deal, but what Mary wanted to say was that they couldn't be sure Jinx wasn't hankering for a drink of her own with Brandi gone. But, it wouldn't be very diplomatic – more like foreboding – to voice this aloud, so the woman kept her mouth shut.

"Well, you can pass that advice on to Jinx too," Peter nodded. "Though I can't imagine I'd be very helpful right now."

"Misery loves company," Mary made a dark joke in lieu of saying what had really been coursing through her mind, and fortunately she earned shaky laughter from both men.

At any rate, even if the josh had fallen flat, it wouldn't have mattered, because a distinct stirring sounded from below all three adults, meaning that Holly was on her way back to life. It reminded Mary very closely of how the sensation had come about on the little girl's very first day in the hospital, but Peter had been out in the waiting room on that occasion; it was opportune for both father and daughter he was right here this time.

None of them were equipped for Holly coming around quite so soon, however, and the trio flashed one another restless looks, as if she might pop up and start doing tricks. Peter scooted himself clear to the edge of his chair, while Mary suddenly felt she should leave so they could have their privacy, though she decided to stay put. Marshall was the only one who made any sort of practical decision, but it was what he was known for.

"You want me to get someone?" he asked Peter coolly. "Or, I can wait until she's more awake…"

"Yeah, I don't…" he seemed unsure what the best choice would be, and fumbled slightly. "I'm not sure…maybe…" his eyes kept jumping to the door and back. "Maybe hang on…"

"Sure," Marshall clearly wanted to put him at ease. "Just let us know."

"Um…maybe don't…" he was speaking faster now, like time was running out, especially since Holly's eyelashes were fluttering. Lowering his voice as a precaution, "Maybe don't mention Brandi…"

Both Marshals nodded vigorously upon hearing this; Mary had-had no intention of bringing up Brandi in front of her niece unless she asked about her. Abruptly, she wondered what Peter's plan was if Holly did, indeed, want to know where her mother was, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it.

"Mmm…" the little one hummed at first, which then transitioned to a groan. "Huh…" and now she whimpered.

Peter pulled Holly's hand out from under the covers and kissed her fingers, a few at a time, while Marshall gently ran his hand over the top of her head. For the first time, Mary saw her closely-trimmed blonde hair as cute, rather than boyish. She'd had it cut just before she'd gone into the hospital, and it was growing quickly, curling in little Q's around her ears. Almost pixie-ish.

Nobody said anything until Holly did, not wanting to bombard her, and Mary was heartened to see that she didn't seem nearly as afraid as she had those several days prior when she'd woken with no parents at her bedside. A little lost, yes, and probably unwell, but the lack of total fear was reassuring.

Eventually, she blinked slowly at Peter, her eyes bleary and sleep-dusted, but receptive in their own way.

"Daddy…"

The whisper was husky and low, but it was still Holly underneath.

"Hi pumpkin…" affectionate as ever, he decided this was the time for a kiss, which he left in the middle of her forehead. "How you feeling?"

"Don't know…" she revealed softly after another second or two. "My leg fixed?"

"All fixed," Peter reinforced. "Those nice doctors said you did a wonderful job. I bet you're pretty sleepy though, huh?"

All Holly did was swallow and nod, but this was definitely the best they could hope for.

"Does your leg hurt, honey?" Peter pressed gently. "Does anything hurt?" encompassing it all.

Yet another nod proceeded this question, but it didn't quite answer the concern.

"What does?" he wanted to clarify. "Your leg hurts?"

Nod number three.

But, it was hard to think the discomfort was that unbearable when Holly barely made a peep. Yes, she was probably still woozy and groggy and more awareness would come with time – unfortunately, in the case of the twinges – but overall she seemed fairly nonplussed.

"Did you see who's here?" Peter waved this report enticingly. "Uncle Marshall and Aunt Mary…" inclining his head their direction. "They stayed the whole time the doctors were working on your leg. Isn't that nice of them?"

Holly turned her head slowly to face the two individuals. Marshall waggled his fingers in a goofy sort of way, and Mary just did her best to smile.

"Nice…" the little girl repeated. "Gramma too?" a slight drawl bogged the phrase down.

"Yes, Grandma too," Peter promised. "And Aunt Rachel. You are such a lucky little girl to have so many people here that love you."

Mary was well aware about the direction this positive attitude was headed. Peter was trying to nudge Holly to focus on everyone in their inner circle – fun relatives and aunts typically unseen – so her mind wouldn't stray to the one who was missing. The courage required for this task was admirable, but it didn't work.

"Wha' 'bout mommy?" Holly proposed sluggishly, proving she was not to be diverted, her mission not yet shot down. "She come too?"

Biting her lip in an effort not to give up the ghost, Mary felt Marshall reach for her hand on their side of the bed. Most people wouldn't be able to recognize the semblance of this gesture, why he chose that exact moment to forge a connection, but his wife understood every part of it. Whether she knew it or not, she needed to rely on his support; her child or not, adored or not, Holly was as important to her as Ben and Lizzie, if in her own unique way. The disappointment that would likely rear its head wouldn't be a picnic for anyone.

Because of this, the woman squeezed to show she appreciated his consideration, and waited for the partially stricken Peter to break his daughter's heart.

"Mom…mommy's not here…" he was quiet and fairly impartial, but his own discontent still showed. "I'm sorry, pumpkin."

Mary had to hand it to him. Even she, who would rather jump off a cliff than lie to her children, would have found it extremely difficult to state such a line devoid of any emotion, devoid of even the tiniest fib. But, Peter must've known it would only harm Holly in the long run to pretend Brandi would eventually show up. They had no way of knowing if that was true.

In the wake of the acknowledgment, Holly's swallow seemed rather prominent, but she looked almost more mystified than she did distraught.

"Why?" she finally threw out there, the word sounding oddly long and drawn out when it was only three letters.

Why, indeed. Why, oh why, indeed.

"You know…I don't really know," the fake, phony grin Peter was sporting was physically excruciating. "I wish that she were, because I know how much you'd love to see her, but I hope you know that she does love you, and she'd be so happy if she knew what a fantastic job you did during surgery. She'd be very proud, just like I am."

"Count me in on that too," Marshall spoke up, trying to ease some of the other man's burden. "I don't think I could be as heroic as you, Miss Jolly Holly."

This was a bald-faced lie if ever Mary had heard it, but it was the kind of lie she enjoyed. For who, in the opinion of a devoted niece, was more daring than Uncle Marshall? Eyes of grey, cloudy hazel met the man's; eyes that were too dark, too sunken for such a little girl, but there was a hint of sparkle underneath, purely due to his accolade.

"You too Aun' Mary?" she slurred unexpectedly.

Caught unaware and unsure what she meant, Mary rooted for more, "Me, what?"

"You think I'm brave?" never had there been an appeal so genuine. "Brave like you?"

And there was no hesitation to be had, "Of course, Holls," she patted that fair hair for emphasis. "I'm sorry about your mom," something in her just had to say it. "We're all trying to find out where she is."

"She run away?" Holly guessed innocently, looking mildly curious about the possibility.

"Uh…well…" Mary mishandled her comeback, not having anticipated hearing such a thing. "Not exactly…"

"Holly, do you remember our friend Stan? The short one who doesn't have any hair?"

Marshall's description of their boss was enough to make Mary laugh, even in spite of the impending doom surrounding Brandi. To her relief, Holly nodded her recognition of the portrayal, which meant her uncle could go on.

"See, he's a very smart guy. He's really good at figuring out where people go – kind of like solving a mystery," he painted an elaborate, flowery picture. "And I'm sure he'll be able to find out where mommy is, even if she doesn't come back right away."

No language expelled from the bed-ridden at hearing this explanation; Mary guessed she might be having trouble believing the realism of the account. Though young and ailing, she'd still grown up with Brandi, and even a child of her age knew when to prepare for the worst and when to expect miracles, even if she didn't know she was doing it.

Instead of tunneling for more information about Brandi, accepting her fate, Holly removed her gaze from Mary's and Marshall's features and fixed it on her father once more.

"Daddy…I thirsty," and with a well-timed cough too.

"Okay…" Peter was game for anything that kept her content. "Let me make sure it's okay for you to have something; I'll have to find a nurse," he stood up, looking eager to go so that he could return at the speed of light. "Do you guys mind staying with her?"

"No, go ahead…" Marshall waved a hand toward the doorway. "We'll be here."

"Great. Thanks."

And without another word, he was off, leaving the melancholy Holly with the two people she knew almost as well as her parents, if not even better than Brandi. Although it was encouraging to have the little girl placid and, by all accounts, quite balanced, Mary still thought it was telling that she had adopted such a flat persona. The emptiness that seemed to emanate from her deadened eyes and limp form made the aunt want to surge her with vigor.

"So quiet…" Marshall eventually broke into the lull, trying to sound jaunty and offhand. "Where's my chatty Cathy?" tweaking her cheek lightly. "Nothing to say?"

But, she wasn't looking at him anymore. She was looking at Mary, and no matter how many times the woman tried to deny it, tried to direct her stare elsewhere, it could not be avoided. Whatever Holly was thinking, it didn't have anything to do with Marshall.

"What's up Holls?" she dug even in her reluctance. "Is there something on your mind?"

Eyes flickering to the blankets and then back to the blonde, "I was bad."

"You were bad?" Mary repeated, bewildered. "What do you mean? When?"

"I was bad for mommy," there was no mistaking the shame. "She got mad – she left."

Until the last portion, Mary had still been dense about whatever Holly was trying to tell her. Then it seemed to swab over her in sheets; little by little, one by one, she saw that the three-year-old sitting before her had the same exact fears as her crotchety old aunt. Dissimilar they might be, but they held an equal sense of sacrifice, or else penitence, underneath.

So, why did it look so much worse on Holly than Mary felt it looked on her? Was this how Marshall felt when he watched her blame herself – dejected and trodden because he knew how little she had to with the way things ended? That was certainly how Mary felt now, and she couldn't babble onward quickly enough in order to alleviate Holly's low mentality.

"No…" the hush in her timbre was sincere, and Marshall must've realized it, because he clutched her hand harder. "No, your mommy didn't leave because you were bad. I don't ever want you to think that."

"But…I be sick…" Holly preserved almost stridently, thinking surely it had to be something, but Mary intended to shoot this down too. "She mad 'cause I get sick…"

"No, she's not mad because you're sick!" the inspector hadn't intended to raise her voice, but she was so aghast at the presumption that she couldn't help it. "Holly, she did not leave because of you. She left because…"

"Because, sometimes grown-ups get a little mixed up," Marshall jumped in with both feet before his wife could even begin to invent where her sentence was headed. "Sometimes, they aren't sure what they want, or they have problems they can't solve on their own, and they need a little time by themselves. Nobody really knows why your mommy isn't here, but I promise – and Aunt Mary promises – that it wasn't because of anything you did."

The woman had the sudden urge to take up Holly's hand, because who knew who much sense she was making of Marshall's intellectual jargon. There was no apprehension when they locked palms; Holly obviously yearned for the touch as much as Mary did.

Too much familiarity resided in that angelic, pure, wide-eyed face. Mary saw not a woman who ranted and raved because she couldn't keep her sister rooted to the spot, but a seven-year-old that had questioned for years upon years why her father had gone. A seven-year-old – a forty-year-old – who had forever wondered if it was something she'd said, done, or spoiled. It had to have been something horribly wrong. Something that had made the number one man in her life turn his back without ever looking over his shoulder.

"Holls…" the makeshift nickname made the conversation seem less theatrical, but Mary ascertained that feeling of cotton in her throat just the same. "I don't…know if you know this…"

Brandi couldn't be relied upon to have shared this story with her daughter who was not yet a toddler, and it could be outlined in further detail as the days progressed, but for some reason, Mary thought now was the time to pull it out.

"But…when I was a little girl, and when your mommy was just a baby…"

"Mary," Marshall's voice was warning, and she knew exactly why.

By weaving this yarn for Holly to absorb, his partner was putting the idea in her head that an absentee parent was in her future.

"Don't do this now," the evenness to his tone did not mask the penetrating cut within.

Mary expertly ignored him, "Our dad left one day, and we never saw him again."

Orbs as round as two starry planets, Holly's mouth formed a perfect O, "Never-never?"

"Nope, never," she was frank. "But, it wasn't because I'd messed up or made a mistake, and it wasn't anything your mom did either."

Except be born. That might've been a contributing factor, though Brandi couldn't be blamed for existing. In any event, it was really the lure of gambling and holding up banks that had driven James from their run-down New Jersey home; it was a life of excitement, not the turmoil he'd seen with two little girls and a drunken, whining wife.

"You're a good girl," she promised.

Marshall, knowing his attempts to get Mary to hunker down were to no avail, decided to join in.

"One of the best there is."

"No matter what happens, or what anyone tells you, you'll always be a good girl," Mary finished soundly. "You think you can remember that?"

"I try to be good…" Holly voiced uncertainly, timidly.

"You don't have to try," Marshall assured her gently. "You already are. You know Aunt Mary's never wrong about these things," he winked good-naturedly.

"We love you," the blonde couldn't resist tacking on, and although a little late, it wasn't lacking in sentiment. "We both love you."

And Holly knew precisely how to reciprocate, "Love you…"

With a second coercion, one Mary couldn't quite explain but followed nonetheless, she slipped her fingers out of her niece's and wrapped her into her arms instead. There had only been a few occasions in Mary's life where she was guided by the angel on her shoulder, rather than the devil. Most days, she traveled the straight and narrow, acting as she saw fit without thinking twice, without analyzing every motion to death. But, now and again, she was conflicted between raining on the parade or pointing out the rainbow in the distance.

It had happened five years before when she'd had to tell her beloved Tripp that his mother had died. Rather than berate the witness for her appalling recklessness, she had drudged up every decent deed the woman had ever engaged in, and pulled the sobbing boy into her arms.

This was no different. Holly was tiny in her grasp, all skin and bones, but she felt right there just the same. Mary's instincts rarely led her astray; she just had to learn to listen to them. Right now, they told her to hold the child close, to run a hand soothingly along her back, to dote just as a mother would, because her mother was not here to do it herself.

"Love makes bad days a whole lot better," Marshall theorized from outside the huddle. "Even when it comes from far away."

From over Holly's shoulder, Mary could see her husband eyeing her; whatever temper she displayed on her exterior was not fooling him. The speech she had just delivered to Holly proved she was far more worried than she let on. Whether Brandi was out of the picture because she'd decided to be, or because she was ensnared with those out of one's worst nightmares, they had to face reality. And that reality was that Mary might've been abandoned for the second time in her almost fifty years of existence.

And no matter the façade she so expertly displayed, Marshall wouldn't believe for a minute that she could accept it so easily.

XXX

**A/N: Frankly, this is not one of my favorite chapters – I think it's kind of boring. I would be flattered if you didn't think so LOL!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: I'm so glad there are people who didn't think the last chapter was dull! We are our own worst critics, I guess! Thank-you!**

XXX

Oddly enough, Mary's attention wasn't absorbed in Holly's recovery, or even in her mindset where Brandi was concerned once she went home Wednesday evening. It was on those semi-cryptic words of Peter's seconds before Holly had regained wakefulness.

"_I don't think you'll be squashing my thanks when I tell you what I have cooking."_

Like a dog with a bone, Mary allowed such a statement to ramble in her mind ad nauseam in the eclipsed hours lounging around at the hospital. It didn't leave her through the drive home either, nor in the first minutes alone with the kids, who were being watched by Delia yet again. If Marshall had known what she was consumed with, he would have immediately deduced that her brain, already so accustomed to pushing out the demons she didn't wish to face, had purposely found something trivial to chew on. This was why she didn't mention it to him.

What could Peter be talking about? Was he looking for a favor? That was certainly what it sounded like. But, the inspector had to be careful not to goad him; were she in his position, she would not appreciate some busybody looking for details about an idea that was probably only starting to percolate at this point. She would have to be patient.

But, as a result of Mary's endless craze over her brother-in-law's throwaway line about gratitude, she was thrown for a loop when Stan, of all people, showed up at her front door after dinner. His appearance meant the situation regarding Brandi came rushing back in a fleet, and it was like being doused with cold water.

Why had he come to the house? Could whatever he had found out be so serious that he refused to say it over the phone?

The questions truly never ended.

"Mare, we have a visitor…" it was Marshall who announced the chief's presence, and she didn't miss the trepidation in his voice as they came through the living room. Waiting until his wife had stood and joined them near the couch, "I think we can spare a cup of coffee or dessert for the old man."

"Oh, you don't have to put yourselves out playing host," Stan waved a nonchalant hand and then instantly stuffed both into his pockets. "Not fair, when I stopped by unannounced."

"Is there a reason for that?" Mary wanted to know in an undertone, heedful of the fact that Lizzie was coloring on her stomach on the rug at their feet. "You didn't find anything out already…"

She had assumed not. While US Marshals were indeed talented at their jobs, it could sometimes take several days before leads popped up. Stan having anything to share this soon was unprecedented.

"Well, I may…" he shifted awkwardly, sounding indifferent. "I don't want to jump to any conclusions."

"We can talk in the kitchen," Marshall suggested. "If it's something of a sensitive nature…"

How Mary wished he would not speak in such a manner. He was foiling every attempt she was making to convince herself that Brandi had gone AWOL on purpose, and entertaining the idea that she was in some kind of mortal peril.

She was not. She could not be. Not her baby sister.

"Uh, well…maybe in a minute…" Stan conceded. And, unable to refrain from playing the doting grandfather any longer, he nudged Lizzie's shoulder with one of his feet, forcing her to look up and blink girlishly into his face. "Hi, beauty," he greeted her sweetly.

"Hi Stan…" the child was a shameless flirt with the older man, even at five years old, not even trying to keep the delighted grin from her cheeks. "Wanna see my picture?"

"I would love to!" he boasted, stooping to his knees, which Mary noticed produced a groan. Fighting the way his knees ached at the bend they had just endured, "What might these be?"

"The Christmas gifts I'm asking Santa for," Lizzie informed him, at her most outgoing around Stan, pointing out her drawings. "In case he didn't get my first list, I'm making another. But, I don't want to ask for too many 'cause he might think I'm _greedy_…"

She said the last word in a hushed whisper, as though it were indecent to even think such things. Stan chuckled and wound a finger around one of her chocolate corkscrew curls.

"I think you are on the 'good' list for life, gorgeous," always with the affection. "Between you and me, I think it's your brother who has to worry."

"Hmm…" Lizzie giggled, showing only her top teeth, used to this line around the house. "That's what daddy says."

Glancing up at his male inspector, "I'll just bet he does."

"Well, we still think Santa will cut him some slack," Marshall teased lightly. "But, one always likes to promote spreading good cheer to avoid as much coal as possible."

"Speaking of which…" apparently, Stan's aged knees could only take so much crouching and he resumed his upright stance once more. "Where is the firecracker?"

No need to ask – Ben appeared with the proverbial blast at hearing an additional voice amongst his parents. In fact, he whacked his bedroom door open so hard it hit the wall behind and made a spectacular crash. Racing at warp speed down the hallway, Stan knew a spinning pellet when he saw it and got out of Lizzie's line of fire in hopes that she would not be trampled.

"Stan!" the boy bellowed as if he'd never seen the man in his life.

"Ben, don't -!"

Mary tried to stop him when she saw him leap onto the sofa and stumble speedily across the lumpy cushions, onto the armrest…

"Do NOT jump!"

Too late. Like a skydiver, Ben flung out his most impressive wingspan and all-but catapulted himself from the confines of the furniture straight at Stan's chest. Fortunately, what Stan lacked in joint potency he more than made up for in brute strength. Height challenged he might be, but wimpy he was not.

Seconds later, he had caught Ben – not without a grunt – and wrapped his legs around his waist before he could escape.

"Hey-hey, tiger!" the boss slapped him amiably on the back, their faces inches from one another's. "Giving me a run for my money with an entrance like that!"

Mary took his remark seriously, "Ben, honestly, you have to quit doing that! It's bad enough that you might crack your head open, but you don't have to go maiming Stan!"

"Ah, come on mama," Stan himself pretended to be offended. "Give me a little more credit than that."

"He wouldn't _really_ crack his head open, would he daddy?" Lizzie proposed ominously from below them, pausing in penning her list to ask.

"Not if we can help it," was Marshall's tried-and-true reply.

"Pretty soon I won't have to jump anyway!" Ben broadcasted haughtily, nose in the air for everyone to see, not even wiggling in Stan's grasp. "I practice my flying every day, and I'm getting really good!"

"Is that so?" Stan inclined his eyebrows in the direction of his two inspectors, one of which gave a jaunty smirk, the other of whom rolled her eyes.

"You have anyone that needs saving, Stan?" the little boy went on briskly. "Cause my superpowers are better than guns! I don't need anything like that to get people to safety!"

"What do you need then?"

"I'd just make people invisible, and then the bad guys couldn't catch 'em! Or give them big-big muscles so they could beat up anybody who tried to hurt them! Or I might even be able to read people's minds, and then I'd tell the police before they got to do anything bad!"

"Well…" Stan gave a large, wholly impressed kind of sigh. "The next time I have to go after somebody nasty, you will be my first call."

"You better!" Ben was not a boy to be fooled. "Me and dad will be your backups!"

"That's all well and good…" the elder murmured, eyes darting in several directions, leaning in to address Ben personally. "But, what are we gonna do with your mom on that assignment?"

He was far from dissuaded, "Aw, mom can stay home with Lizzie. The men will protect them!"

With that, he threw out his chest like he expected Stan to pin an emblem to his shirt, then and there. But, all he received was another hearty thump on the back and a hospitable chortle. Stan was forever amused by the children, still able to marvel all these years later that two people under his employ who hadn't been able to admit their true feelings for almost ten years had gotten hitched and birthed twins.

"Hate to break it to you, Ben my boy," the chief came clean. "But, the women around here could clock you if you give them reason to. You ought to know by now that your mom is as tough as they come."

"Yeah…" Ben commented sweetly, but without any real air of intimidation. "I know."

Generous though he could oftentimes be, Ben didn't realize that his compliment toward his mother made for a perfect segue to whisk him out of the room, sister in tow. It was Marshall who acknowledged the modification of mood within the succinct silence, and he didn't dawdle in trying to release the children.

"Listen spark…" the taller man, though fun-loving, could be direct when he needed to. "I want you and Lizzie to go and get ready for bed while mom and I talk to Stan."

"Aw, not already!" the son whined, which was humdrum at this point, as was the way he threw his head back in a thespian manner. "I barely got to say anything, and Stan _never_ comes over!"

His attendance alone was rather striking, Mary thought. She and Marshall usually had to make a point to allow Stan some time with the twins; he so rarely appeared in their abode.

"He'll be here long enough for you to say goodnight," Marshall promised without consulting with the shorter, but figured he would agree. "Get moving – the whole Magilla, okay?"

"The whole Magilla," Mary slipped in spitefully under her breath, but her husband had already gone on without hearing her slight.

"Put your pajamas on, clothes go _in_ the laundry basket in the corner, _not_ on the floor…"

"I'll remember daddy," Lizzie stood after shoving all her crayons in their box, eager to please.

"I know you will, Lizzie Lou."

Ben glowered, especially once Stan dropped him to the carpet.

"…After you're dressed, make sure you brush your teeth and go to the bathroom; get all snuggled in Lizzie's bed and then we'll be in, all right?"

Mary considered Marshall's plan while he was busy chattering, knowing the routine well enough that she didn't have to listen. It would work for shooing Lizzie away; she would be meticulous, taking her time with the buttons on her sleepwear, using care in depositing her dirty clothes where they belonged, and probably Ben's as well. In addition to brushing every single tooth, she would probably clean up all her stuffed animals and put them in the toy bin in the closet.

Whereas Ben would throw on the first pair of pajamas he found, even if they weren't clean or warm enough, would toss his day clothes somewhere on the ground despite the reminder, and might skip out on polishing his pearly whites all together. All this so he could catch some snippet of the adult conversation. They would have to be careful to watch their backs with him lurking around.

For the moment, however, he accepted the directions and nodded, but not without kicking a few stray crayons that Lizzie hadn't managed to put away.

"Hey…" Mary let him know she'd seen him, and that she didn't approve of him taking his disgruntled behavior out on his sister's toys. "Pick it up. Those aren't yours; don't go ruining them."

Reproached and put-out about being told to go to sleep, Ben's initial delight at having Stan in the house definitely abated as he finally recognized his ill-fated fortune and shuffled off to the bedroom behind Lizzie.

"See you soon, kiddies!" Stan called, but his voice sounded barren, almost fraudulent when they all knew that nothing positive was coming.

And once they were gone, there was no reason to hem and haw. Marshall was the first one to head into the kitchen, digging a few cookies out of the tin on the counter, but neither Mary nor Stan moved right away.

The woman felt a distinct uneasiness steal over here when she was alone with her boss. The way his temperate brown eyes turned so genuinely sensitive was kind, but they didn't inspire any sort of buoyancy. Mary knew without question that he was going to tell her something that she did not want to hear. Denial was one of her favorite, most well-known emotions – like a glove, or else the back of her hand. As familiar was it was, she didn't cherish it in the warm-fuzzy sense; defiance of the truth just made it much harder to accept when she was faced with it dead on.

And yet, standing around wasn't going to help either.

"What's going on?" Mary's usually sharp timbre sounded funny when she attempted to confront Stan without joining Marshall. "What did you get?"

Stan was too docile; he was so obviously trying to mollify her before he even got started.

"Come to the kitchen," he encouraged gently, a hand floating onto her forearm before ultimately motioning toward the space beyond. "Let's talk there. I don't want to run the risk of the kids overhearing."

Overhearing what? What was he going to say that might upset the kids? Mary's throat went dry, parched like she'd been stranded in the desert for days. Maybe she could forage for some water if she ever made it to the island. That is, if water even seemed all that important by the time she reached her destination.

"They're gonna overhear anyway…" she insisted, even as her legs seemed to move of their own accord to trail after Stan to commence with Marshall. "If they want to."

"Just the same," he sighed. "As a precaution."

Here, he stopped, leaning with his elbows on the block in the center of the room, Marshall across from him sipping a beer from a bottle, perhaps to calm his nerves. So much for dessert and coffee. Once the remaining parties approached, he lifted the bottle to both in turn; offering them a pint, but both shook their heads, turning him down.

Mary couldn't make herself move too close. She wanted to stand apart from both men, leaving them to hash things out, perfectly poised across from one another. Halfway between living room and kitchen, she was safe from whatever unwelcome news she was surely going to hear, at least for a little while.

"What's the story?" Marshall eventually pushed the envelope between sips, knowing someone had to get the ball rolling. "Is Brandi still in town?"

"Look…you two…" no matter how uncomfortable, Stan was clearly glad to finally release his information. "I don't want to make anything I say sound like the gospel; a lot of its speculation – conjecture – at this point. Nothing is set in stone…"

"We know how it works," Marshall broke in smoothly. "What do you have for us?"

Not for us. Not for Mary – for Peter. For Holly. What did Mary care what her madcap sister was up to?

Stan gave what felt like his tenth exhale for the evening before launching in.

"What I know for sure is that Brandi didn't take her car wherever she was headed or wherever she ended up. It's still here in Albuquerque, so if she skipped town, she didn't do it with her vehicle…"

"Well, we were pretty sure of that," Marshall uttered. "Peter said her car was still at the house."

"That's right, but Delia and I still decided to verify it. And, her phone is a bust too; she must have it off, even if it's still in her possession, because it goes straight to voicemail and I can't get a bounce off a tower," Stan explained. "Once we got all that out of the way, we started tracking her credit cards; we even looked into her bank statements thanks to Mary…"

The woman gathered she was supposed to feel proud that she had stolen such information, but all she felt was numb.

"There hasn't been any activity in about a week," Stan went on. "And the charges before that were minimal, certainly nothing to write home about – grocery store, gas station; that kind of thing."

"But, if Brandi was working on replacing the money at the Autoplex, wouldn't she be making deposits or withdrawals?" Marshall mentioned skeptically. "That doesn't add up."

"Unless she's using someone else's credit cards," Mary spoke up, making both individuals jump at the sound of her voice. "Is there even any evidence that Brandi existed at all beyond last week? No car, no payments, no show at the hospital; is this some kind of fake identity thing, or what?"

"Well, we in the law enforcement business don't really define it under 'fake identity,' but it does seem like she's hooked up with someone else so she can't be tracked," Stan coincided with Mary's view. "So then, I had Delia start doing a number on Scott, since you said that was who Brandi was most likely involved with."

"What'd you find?" Marshall pressed before Mary could pounce, even from her place across the room.

"Same story as far as the credit cards goes," the bald reported resignedly. "So, whatever money the two of them are using – if they're together – it's cash, it isn't their own, or it's on an account with a pseudonym."

This was just dandy, Mary couldn't help thinking. What whacky, convoluted sort of scheme was Brandi knotted up in? It was just so 'Brandi' to be pulling such a thing, that Mary almost forgot to be worried until the trusted chief delivered the remainder of his results.

"The thing is…"

The way his voice dropped was ominous, if not outright chilling.

"While Scott might not be involved in any transactions, I definitely think Peter was right in assuming he's the one Brandi is with."

"Why?" Marshall demanded, picking up on the dark evolution of the conversation.

"Well…because Delia was able to find out that he rented a car a few days ago – early Tuesday morning."

Right around the time Brandi had left Peter at the hospital.

"Around here?" Marshall still wouldn't quit theorizing, while Mary remained mum, trying not to twist her sweaty palms in her pockets.

"At a dealership a few towns away," Stan confirmed. "The car was scheduled to be returned this morning, and Scott never brought it back. Someone from the rental company found it abandoned on the roadside way out in Cimarron."

"Cimarron…" Mary repeated, suddenly feeling weak-kneed despite finding her voice. "That's three hours away…"

"And a ghost town," Stan was swallowing now, a danger sign if ever the blonde had seen it. "Truly an ideal place to conduct something shady if that's your plan."

"So, you think Brandi's somewhere in Cimarron?" Marshall cut in once more, but Mary knew he was wrong.

Stan would not look as he did if he had any leads. There was a hesitant, hedging quality to his features that said he was dreading whatever he was about to say. Even Marshall's usual sunny disposition couldn't change the facts.

"I don't know…"

But he knew something.

"…Because when the employees from the rental company found the car, it had been totaled and driven into a ditch."

Mary wasn't sure she was breathing any longer, and yet the inhales and exhales she so obviously emitted sounded extraordinarily loud, almost magnified inside her ears. The faces of Marshall and Stan swam indistinctly in her line of vision, blurred shapes without dimension, without meaning – their words likewise.

Her life suddenly existed in some sort of ethereal cosmos – a faceless, hazy Brandi warbled in her mind's eye, just a shape struggling into a distant horizon, dragging herself through the clouds of sienna dust and the sand-peaked mountains. The saloon town swallowed her up, pitched from a vehicle into the desolate wasteland of Cimarron – no one aware of where she was going, why, or when she'd be back.

This image, such as at were, must've registered on Mary's face as shock and disbelief, because both Marshall and Stan stared at her for what felt like several minutes before speaking again.

"I…Mary…" Stan tripped over his words, evidently longing to make the situation sound a little brighter. "This is sketchy information, at best; there are no bodies. The sheriff's office out there assured me that they did a very thorough search…"

Just that word – 'bodies' – was enough to make Mary pass out, even though Stan was using it to help rather than harm.

"There just…there could've been an accident and Brandi walked away without a scratch – maybe she got scared about having to pay for the car and didn't 'fess up…"

But, they couldn't even be certain that Brandi had been with Scott, whether he'd been the one who had rented the car or not. Sure, all the arrows pointed in that direction, but everything was so foggy; nothing seemed definite, and this was more distressing, not less.

"I just…I wouldn't give up hope, kiddo; I really wouldn't. It sounds like Brandi's nearby, even if she is hurt."

But, Mary wasn't so sure. Short of being informed of her death, this was just about the worst news they could've received. Brandi had either been ejected from a wrecked car and heaved so far into the distance that no one could find her, or she'd escaped and was on the run for some bizarre reason, now with a derelict automobile to add to her burden. And no phone, no credit cards; no car of her own.

She was disappearing before their very eyes.

Marshall was studying Mary so quizzically that she thought he must be able to see all her insides. Was she really so transparent? Had she lost her ability to paint a poker face? Did she look as frightened as she felt?

"I don't understand," her husband avoided poking her about what she thought by taking the scientific approach. "If Scott rented a car, he would've had to use a credit card – one in his name, right?"

"Well, presumably, but…"

But, at that moment, Mary was shaken from her reverie by the sound of her daughter's voice in the bedroom. It was a good thing too, because everything Marshall and Stan were doling out was starting to disorient her anyway.

"Mama, I can't find Pretzel!"

Lizzie's plea made Mary feel like she'd had the volume on the television way down, only to have it turned rapidly to maximum – the sound was blaring in what had seconds before been a stark, sterile existence.

"I can help her…" Marshall offered up at once, even depositing his beer on the counter in an effort to stake his claim. "Stay and talk to Stan."

But, what else was there to talk about? Mary didn't relish being fed a whole pack of platitudes by her chief, who knew hazard when he scented it out. She didn't believe for a minute that he had as much faith in Brandi's circumstances as he wanted her to adopt.

"She asked for me," Mary referred to Lizzie somewhat harshly to get Marshall to stay behind. "Forget it."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and swept from the room, striding tenaciously back to the bedroom. Marshall opened his mouth to continue the discussion with Stan, only to hear his partner explode before she even made it to the desired location.

"Get out of the hall and get your pajamas on!"

"I _have_ my pajamas on!" Ben's earnest voice seemed to hover in the surrounding air.

"You're not even wearing a shirt!"

Marshall winced at Mary's obvious frustration being taken out on their son.

"I couldn't find a clean one!"

"Then get in here and I'll help you."

It was only when the man heard the slam of the door that he could be sure Mary had vanished and that the kids were out of earshot. With a dejected sigh, the male inspector dragged himself over to Stan, knowing he was going to be spending many an hour trying to wiggle his way to Mary's interior; feeling tired just thinking about it. But, right now, he needed to get the rest of the story.

"Ben," he explained quickly to get the scuffle in the hall out of the way. "He eavesdrops. We've told him that what we do at work is none of his business, but it just makes him more curious."

"He's a kid," Stan was not offended. "I'm more worried about Mary; I'm sure sorry I had to come and dump this on you guys. I know it's not what either of you wanted to hear…"

"You're just the messenger," Marshall absolved him of blame at the drop of a hat. "And, you can leave Mary to me. Shutting people out or acting livid is classic defensive behavior. She wants to think Brandi flew the coop all by herself so she doesn't have to think about the possibility that something worse has happened."

"It sounds to me like it's a combination of both," Stan figured. "Brandi was obviously trying to get the hell out of dodge for some reason, but I doubt crashing the rental car was in the cards."

"Yeah, about that," Marshall was glad he'd provided him with a neat shift into the topic he was most interested in. "Get back to the bit about the credit card. If Scott rented a car, he'd have to use a credit card, or have someone with him so he could bum off theirs…"

"Well, I don't think that would work," the other man insisted. "The card would still have to be in Scott's name, which it wasn't – the rental dealership only recognized the description I gave them. But, they said the guy who matched the profile wasn't named Scott; I can't remember what name he was using…"

"Was Brandi with him?" Marshall was surprised Stan hadn't gone straight to that part of the tale first, but knew he couldn't fault him; it was a lot to detail.

"Yeah, I think so – blonde, blue eyes, big boobs…"

"Nice."

"There was also a third person," Stan broke in, seemingly without noticing Marshall's aside.

"Who?"

"I don't know," Marshall's heart sank once he heard that they'd hit a dead end. "The employee I talked to said the three came and went together, but that the third party mostly lingered in the background. He wore a baseball cap; he didn't have anything more to tell me than that, and the security footage doesn't help."

"You think he's responsible for whatever's happened to Brandi and Scott?"

"Either that, or he's really the brains behind this whole scheme," Stan pulled up an even more terrifying plausibility. "And if you ask me, that's where we should be focusing. Brandi and Scott were sloppy; they aren't criminals. If anything, they're people who try to get around the law without really breaking it. After they totaled the car – assuming it was them – they would've been caught in twenty minutes because the rental agencies keep tabs on their customers…"

"Right…"

"Whoever they were with knew how to get away, and not only that, knew how to stay away."

"Yeah…" Marshall still had a rather dark outlook, and he didn't hesitate to bring it up with Stan. "That's if the trio weren't killed on impact and aren't lying in the woods just waiting for someone to find the bodies."

The exchange ended there. Marshall knew that Stan, for all his inferences, saw this as a very real ending to an already convoluted mystery. There were so many more scenarios they hadn't even delved into; the third individual could've turned on Brandi and Scott and taken them for a ride. He could be quite the mastermind, orchestrated the crash from the beginning and left them for dead while he escaped unscathed, although that was highly unlikely.

"All this…" the inspector eventually murmured vaguely. "Abandoning your sick daughter, alienating your husband and your family, risking all that…"

It was something Marshall couldn't fathom. It was not who he was. Up until now, he hadn't really believed it was Brandi either.

"Just to replace a wad of cash. And for…what?" he furrowed his brow, riveted by how incomprehensible the whole thing was. "Approval? To feel you did something right? Is Brandi so lacking in self-esteem that she'd put this in motion?"

"You know her better than I do," Stan shrugged dismally. "But, I'd say so."

The saddest part, to Marshall anyway, was that it wasn't Brandi whose self-worth would be truly decimated in the long run. It would be Mary's. He wasn't sure she could handle the rejection, or else the loss, of yet another person so close to her heart.

Her father. Jamie. And now Brandi.

Couldn't one person only take so much?

XXX

**A/N: I don't feel like this story has enough Stan! This is only his second-ish appearance in the tale! Fortunately, I did find a way to work him in! And, this is the part of the story that I really hope holds up down the road when everyone finds out what is going on – that I dotted my I's and crossed my T's so everything fits. I am no mystery writer, so forgive me later on if it doesn't match the way I intended it to LOL!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hugs for the reviews! I love reading them!**

XXX

Accustomed to loud noises waking him in the night, Marshall couldn't be that surprised when he was shaken from his slumber at two in the morning to the sound of snuffling, almost like a whimper. But, even as he salvaged a more perceptive guise, the resonance coming from past his bedroom door was most peculiar. The soft weeping would hit a kind of three-note-rhythm – sniffle, cough, sigh, and then it would disappear, to be replaced by the quiet night once more.

But, inevitably, the pattern would just recommence. Marshall began to think it wasn't taking place inside his home, but somewhere in the yard. Nonetheless, a din to which he was not adapted prevented him from going back to sleep, and some sinking feeling in his gut knew it was something he could not avoid.

Perhaps it was Lizzie, and she had resolved not to cry out when she met the demons in her nightmares. It would be most unusual behavior for her, but not completely out of the ordinary. She was growing up, after all, and could be prone to embarrassment. An episode occurring two nights in a row might have her biting her tongue.

No other solution coming to him due to a sleep-induced haze, Marshall rolled over to see if Mary was awake and could hear what he was picking up, but she wasn't there. The sheets were bare and cold, his feet and hands hitting empty fabric where his wife usually resided.

That settled it, then. Lizzie had most definitely experienced yet another bad dream and Mary, with the nose for twin-suffering that she possessed, had run at the sound of the alarm. Unsure how he'd missed the event but resolving to make up for it, Marshall swung his legs over the side of the bed frame and went to join his two favorite ladies, and probably a wide-awake Ben as well.

But, once the man approached the hatch that led to the bedroom of his children, he determined that whatever the noise was, it was not being made by Ben or Lizzie. The door and the boundaries beyond were deathly silent, and a glowing hue was coming from the living room, which made Marshall think he had left the sink light in the kitchen on. Definitely baffled now, he ventured forth still further, only to discover that his second guess had been wrong as well.

The flush emanating from the living space turned out to be coming from the Christmas tree. At first, Marshall remained entirely flummoxed, because he specifically remembered having unplugged the lights before turning in for the evening. But, there they were nonetheless, little pinpricks of red, green, blue, and yellow, with a few twinkling whites among the splash of color. It would've been a warm, cozy sight if not for the fact that there was a mass huddled in blankets on the sofa and emitting the exact sounds Marshall had picked up from three rooms away.

"Mary…" he whispered, motioning to turn on a lamp before thinking better of it, not wanting to startle her. "What are you doing out here?"

The lump moved and slowly molded into the person Marshall had addressed, complete with furious swipes to her eyelids and an irate grunt in her throat.

"Ugh…" it was irritation mixed with anguish. "Shit…"

"What are you doing?" Marshall repeated himself, hurrying over to the couch and plopping down right near her midsection as she scrambled to sit up. "Why aren't you in bed? I thought you were Lizzie…"

"I didn't want to wake you," Mary's usually hard-hitting attitude was flawed with a clouded sensation coming from her speech. "Just…just go back to bed…"

But, Marshall had no intention of doing any such thing. He watched as she clutched the blankets around her chin and continued to try and mop what were clearly a set of streaming eyes. This was a foolish action if she wished to keep him in the dark as far as her motives, but it was late and she was probably tired. Face obscured in the shadows, Marshall could only make out that Mary's cheeks were slick and shining. With only the bulbs from the tree to illuminate them, it looked as though she were crying a rainbow array of colors.

"What's the matter?" he pressed gently. "And why are you by yourself? If you needed something you should've just talked to me…"

"You were _asleep_," Mary insisted pointedly, rolling her eyes through her fog as if to tell him he were stupid for not realizing the conundrum. "There was nothing to talk about; there's nothing you can tell me that…"

But, Marshall was able to head her off in no time, "Why are you crying?" he pushed her so fervently in this instance that Mary found it nearly unattainable to deny him what he so badly craved.

But, it was also his intense nature, the graveness that beamed out of his clear blue eyes speckled with reds and yellows that stimulated her to break down. What had minutes before been weakness she was fiercely trying to hide now became a frantic desire to be set free. Marshall was always so genuine, so pure of heart; there was a trust there that she thrived on, that severed her strongest strings and allowed her vulnerabilities to seep through.

And so, her lip began to quiver, droplets leaking their way onto her skin.

"Tell me," Marshall gave her the final nudge.

Ready or not, admitting a fear so massive was never easy. But, Mary did it anyway.

"I think my sister's dead."

And now the tears poured, drenching already stained flesh and dampening the blanket below. Marshall let out a low exhale, but before he started in with the reassurances, he did the only logical thing. Pulling the sobbing Mary into his arms, he encompassed her trembling body, squeezing the muscles in her back and hearing her agonized moans in his ear.

"Shh…" he beseeched her quietly. "Shh…Mare…" the kiss on her honey golden waves, now dappled in highlights from the Christmas tree, was automatic. "Why would you sit out here all by yourself without coming to me? We've been through this…"

It was like he was talking to a child who had been only minimally naughty – like crying by your lonesome was a sin. Then again, when you had Marshall around to alleviate your worries, it very nearly was a transgression of the deepest degree.

"Because there's nothing you can say…" Mary gulped, which had been her excuse when he'd first arrived. "I know Stan said there are hundreds of reasons why she hasn't been found, but we've seen this; when someone is gone long enough, it only means one thing…"

"Every case is different," Marshall persevered. "If Brandi is out there, once she takes care of whatever she's doing, she will come home to Peter and Holly. I don't see her leaving them in the lurch forever if she can help it…"

"And what if she can't help it?" he ought to have known Mary would put the option on the table. "Marshall, I just _know_ she's dead…"

At this, the man decided to just let her cry herself out for a moment or two, to let her get everything off her chest, because it was likely quite a menu board.

"I know I've been pissed as hell at her lately, but I never wanted her to die; she has a husband and a little girl…" thinking about Holly just made the circumstances infinitely worse, and Mary's speech became muddled as she tried to solider on. "…She's a daughter; what about mom? What about…what about…"

He could tell it was going to be hard for her to say it, even as he rocked her back and forth, because her own misery never took precedence, but it was what had her up in the middle of the night. It was why she was bawling with only the light of a faux-evergreen to keep her company.

"What about _me_?" Mary eventually stammered. "She's a screw up, Marshall; she's reckless and she is such a moron sometimes, but…" a loud sniffle to keep the snot from dripping onto his shirt. "She's my little sister; she's my _baby_ sister. I don't know who I am when I'm not on her ass twenty-four-seven, when she's not coming through the door bugging me about my love life or what's going on with the kids…"

"Mary, you don't know that those days are over," now was the time to break in, to stop the steady stream. "It may take some doing – some endurance – but for all the jams Brandi has gotten herself into, she's always found a way out."

He should've foreseen the depiction that was coming, because it was true through and through.

"She got herself out because of _me_. Because they'd kidnapped the wrong girl, because her arresting officer was an adulterous, sanctimonious jerk who didn't do his homework, because her husband has money and I'm a US Marshal…" the laundry list was indeed extensive. "I can't help her anymore, which means she can't help herself."

Given everything that had just spilled out of Mary's mouth, it was hard to deny that there was quite a bit of fact in her version of Brandi's life. But, Marshall was known for being a positive influence for a reason, and he certainly wasn't going to give up that title now. So, he pawed his woman delicately from his clasp, seeing her disconsolate and worn down on the other side. As he'd said to Peter that afternoon, putting on a brave face all the time was draining and Mary had been doing it not only for her niece and her brother-in-law, but for her own children as well.

Here he'd thought he would have to pry every fragile emotion out of his wife, and she'd left the shattered pieces of her thoughts on display for him to see.

"Listen to me…" and, for good measure, Marshall tipped her chin upward so her watery eyes would lock with his. They were shadowed and sunken, blood red blazes reflecting in the blackened pupils. "It isn't fair to expect you to put much stock in Brandi when she has been so destructive for such a long time, and you've always had to clean up the mess…"

Placing some amount of fault on the one who was missing seemed to lift Mary's spirits slightly; it helped her not to feel so liable. Just the same, the alternative to seeing the glass half full was to see it half empty, and no one wanted to mull over an unfilled cup where Brandi was concerned.

"But, it is imperative that you keep an open mind on this," now Marshall cradled her sticky face in his hands, but her eyes pinched shut and her head wagged side-to-side, seemingly of its own accord. "Giving up doesn't get you anywhere. You don't have to expect the worst on the off chance you might be pleasantly surprised in the end."

He knew her too well. He knew she was anticipating a horrendous scenario to prepare herself in case it actually happened – so the blow wouldn't be so bad when the truth surfaced.

"Trust me when I tell you…"

"I trust anything you tell me," the letters Mary emitted were murky, but they were said with conviction; her belief in Marshall was the raft line she was clinging to in such turbulent waters. "But, you can't make this into something it isn't…"

"Mary, whatever strength Brandi has, it came from you," he claimed boldly, staring straight into her widened orbs. "If she is in trouble or even if she's just out there and led astray, she will rely on everything you taught her about standing up and not running without a fight."

Touched though she was by her husband's testimony, Mary couldn't help thinking that parts were awfully gapped and fragmented. Hadn't Brandi already run when the going got tough? Holly's condition had been too much for her; she'd sheltered herself, folded inward, and thrown herself into something she could control instead of something so obviously chaotic.

"I just…I don't know what to do about this anymore…" was the only thing the blonde could think of to express her whirling dervish thoughts. "I don't know if I can be the bigger person. What about Jinx? She doesn't even know what we found out. And Peter – Holly – Brandi's her _mother_…"

The relationship between the two produced a second cascade of tears, forcing Mary to pull free of Marshall and shove her palms into her eyes, desperate to stem the flow. Having the man see her this way was still upsetting on some nights, no matter how used to it he'd become – especially when she'd been pregnant. The gloom provided by her hands, blocking out even the hush glow from the holiday decorations, gave her a second to digest what she'd just said.

"This is my father…" Mary whispered tragically, facing Marshall once more, who was looking sadder by the minute. "She is doing to Holly what my father did to me…"

"To all of you…" Marshall intoned solemnly, but that barely registered with his partner.

"How _could_ she do that?" that old anger wiggled its way back to the forefront, though it didn't set up shop for long. "Has she not had a front row seat to what that kind of decision does to a family?"

"Yes, you would think so…" Marshall had to agree with that one. "But, the bottom line is, growing up without a parent made Brandi a whole lot tougher than she looks; when push comes to shove…"

"When push comes to shove, she _bolts_!" Mary could not be convinced for anything, even raising her voice and gambling waking the sleeping kindergarteners down the hall. "Marshall, if I lose her because of something as stupid as this; the whole thing is so senseless…"

"I know…" he tucked tumbling hair that was falling back behind her ears in hopes of relaxing her. "I'm glad you told me about this though…"

Mary's feeling of pandemonium was wiped clean momentarily to make way for confusion, "Told you what?"

"That you're feeling abandoned – betrayed," he clarified. "Since Holly went into the hospital, she's who you've been attentive to – well, her and Peter, and our kids when they feel the tension. You've been so busy tending to them that you weren't making time to weigh up what all this means for you."

"It just means…"

"It means you have every right to feel as helpless as everyone else. You don't have to be the one in control all the time. You can spin too."

The calm that settled around them felt very pronounced following Marshall's matter-of-fact speech. Mary couldn't be entirely sure she grasped what he was telling her. First, he had practically begged her to see the bright side, to not lose faith, and now he was giving her admittance to grieve. To grieve for whom? For a sister who had not yet been pronounced dead? Everything about this was far too complicated for two AM on a Thursday. Not counting the days leading up the twins' birth, this had been the longest week of Mary's life, and it wasn't even over yet.

"I'd say I did some pretty good spinning tonight," she eventually voiced grimly. "Like a top."

With a sniffle and a final dab under her eyes, Mary finally began to a feel a few comforts of home return to her psyche, even with the impending doom still eating away at her heart. But, the hum of the heating vents below was soothing, as was the sight of Beatrix curled in a tiny grey ball underneath the lowest branches of the Christmas tree. The sparkling lights were faint and fuzzy against Mary's waterlogged vision, but it was like being trapped in a land out of a fairytale – it was unknown, maybe even scary at first, but had a kind of ethereal beauty you could find nowhere else.

"I'm sorry, Marshall…" the surrounding tranquility encouraged Mary to say so. "I…I wanted to say something sooner, but…"

"It's only been a day," he never stopped being understanding. "Honestly, I banked on having to work far harder to open you up. You made it pretty easy. Just don't run away next time," jostling her shoulder.

"I can't promise anything," if Marshall could've made out the hue in her face, she might've been blushing. "But, I'll try."

And then, in a phrase from their earliest days, "That's my girl."

The sentence was nostalgic, even welcoming for Mary, and she allowed herself to be guided back into Marshall's strong, supple touch, leaning her head against his chest on the opposite end of the couch. She remembered only too well another instance in which they had laid nestled in the dark, only on that occasion there had been rain beating against the windowpanes, and candles had lit the room rather than dozens of individual shocks of color.

The scene was no less inviting to Mary, however, and she felt more secure sprawled on Marshall's ribcage than she did anywhere else on earth. She had a hunch that the rhythm he was playing as he stroked her hair was going to be the trick to putting her to sleep.

"You remember when Holly was born?" the woman asked after a few minutes of simply being.

"Mmm hmm…" Marshall hummed. "Very well. Those Christmas babies are hard to forget."

Holly's approaching birthday, the day after the holiday festivities, didn't do much for civilizing Mary's disposition, as it was just another event Brandi might be missing, but she shied away from discussing it. Marshall had helped her to cross to the more moderate side, and she wanted to stay there for now.

"Do you remember how I went to visit Brandi in her room a couple hours before Holly landed?"

"I believe so," Marshall alleged efficiently from above. "That was the only time you went back, am I right?"

"Yeah," she murmured. "We both saw a lot of her during dinner here at the house, and then in the rush to the hospital she ended up with us too – well, her and Peter. But, then it was just the two of them and mom for awhile, and we had to sweat it out in the waiting room."

"Ah, yes," the male inspector was feeling jokey now. "I seem to recall you running into that lovely platinum physician with the rather large breasts who had been with you when you went into premature labor. Gave her a piece of your mind since you were finally in a position to do so…"

Mary had to grin at the things he pulled out, but this was not an aspect she had intended to fixate on.

"Well, Jinx and Peter took that break to grab food from the vending machines and go to the bathroom, and I got to stand in."

"It's coming back to me now," Marshall was making Mary's eyes droop shut; the way he tousled her hair was intoxicating. "You were quite nervous about the whole 'laboring' portion of delivery, never having been in that deep yourself."

"Yeah well, I wasn't the only one who was nervous…"

Burning eyes and fast-beating heart aside, there were still parts of Brandi that Mary gripped tight in two hands; parts of her she couldn't let go of. They were the parts that proved she was more than a hasty, truant mother, but a real person who really, no matter how unwise in the process, just wanted to do the right thing.

"_Hey Squish, how you doing?"_

_Mary could only pretend to be so cavalier. Her version of hospital-maternity-ward-PSTD could set in very quickly if she let it, and Brandi's rapid breathing combined with the steady blips on the monitors was doing a number on her already. Highly dramatic when it came to birthing babies, Mary definitely looked at her sister's delivery as a mere predicament or side-show – it was nothing compared to the entrance the twins had made. In fact, Brandi's entire pregnancy had been a cakewalk against Mary's, a glaring disparity that still made the older sister grumpy._

"_You know, you've looked better…" humor was often what Mary used to diffuse undue strain, and her statement was far from false._

_Brandi was lying sideways in her bed, her belly covered by her spotted gown and blankets. The hair around her forehead and cheeks was all sweaty and matted, her face shining like a beacon. Mary couldn't be sure, but judging by the redness of her eyes, not all the moisture came from perspiration, but tears._

_Mary expertly ignored that and sat in the chair that Peter had likely just left, inches from Brandi's face._

"_Here I thought, what with wearing a gown and all, you'd be off to some ball, leaving the rest of us in the dust," a very poor joke about her clothing was made, but the important part was that it was devoid of sarcasm, which would be of no help to Brandi._

_However, it seemed that very few things were going to be of help to Brandi._

"_Mary…" she gasped theatrically. "Where did Peter go?"_

"_He ran to the bathroom; didn't he tell you?"_

"_I…I…" Brandi's eyes looked almost empty in their sockets. "I guess I wasn't listening…"_

"_I'm sure he'll forgive you."_

"_I need you to get him back," the absent tone Brandi had been sporting suddenly turned vital. "She's coming soon; I don't want him to miss it; if he misses his daughter being born…"_

"_Squish, cool it," Mary held up a hand, surprised that she could change gears so quickly. "Trust me, if she were coming now, there would be about six more people in here."_

"_I can feel her coming…" Brandi maintained her position, eyes growing more frantic by the minute. "I can feel her moving down, and I don't know what to do…"_

"_Moving down?" now Mary stood up, trying to fight the squeamish feeling that had erupted in her stomach at hearing such a thing. "What do you…I mean…are you feeling…pressure?"_

_This was a sensation Mary had heard about, but certainly never experienced. Contractions, she might've had to endure, but she'd expertly avoided that pressure-cooker scenario that occurred toward the end of labor. Trying to deduce what Brandi was feeling was not a job she should be delegated with._

_But, she was the only one around, and so Brandi was going to protest to someone._

"_I need to push…"_

"_No-no-no-no-no, no you don't…" Mary flopped back into the chair, thinking foolishly that she could really talk her sister out of her notions when it was her body that was calling the shots. "You don't. Maybe soon, but not yet, okay? How many centimeters were you last time they checked?"_

"_I…I don't know…" the change in how she felt was obviously disorienting for Brandi; she'd just gotten to the point where contractions were bearable, only to start the next phase without warning. "I…I think seven; I think I'd just gotten to seven…"_

"_Okay listen, you can't push at seven centimeters," Mary knew this for a fact. "You have to be ten. The baby might be getting ready, but she's not all the way there yet…"_

_Such pacifying comments didn't work. Whatever that 'pressure' was, it seemed to be mounting, because Brandi moaned and slapped a hand to cover her eyes; whatever collected breaths she'd been taking before no longer had the same effect. It was more like grunting, a sound that didn't sit well with Mary. Her little sister needed some leadership to get her through._

"_Breathe slowly; breathe in – deep from your chest…"_

_Mary took a quivering hand while she instructed, feeling her own nerves begin to jangle a bit, but it was important to keep herself in check._

"_Now breathe out – blow…"_

_The inhales and exhales were constricted, like the airways had begun to close. In the back of her mind, Mary knew that the breathing techniques used to delay pushing were different than those for early labor, but the specifics weren't coming to her. The best she could do was clutch Brandi's hand and encourage, without ridicule._

"_What if I can't keep her in…?"_

"_Yeah, you can," Mary was calm, almost Marshall-esque. "She's safe; you're doing the right thing by trying to hold on…"_

"_Mare…" she sighed, sinking into her pillow and looking dejected. "I don't know how to do the right thing."_

"_You're doing it now," the other emphasized. "Just like you will once she's here. You just have to wait."_

"_I'm gonna screw her up so bad, Mare…"_

_Tension and anxiety combined, not to mention sheer exhaustion, was what was making Brandi so negative, Mary was sure of it. Every report they'd had from Peter and Jinx thus far said that she'd held up well and was doing 'great.' It was perhaps even Mary's presence, so different from that of her husband and mother, that was causing her to open up. She imagined Brandi had toiled for hours over finally getting to see her daughter, only to succumb to fear in the home stretch that she wasn't going to be the mother her child needed._

"_Well, I suppose you can be the judge…" Mary refused to get worked up, glad to see Brandi breathing in a slightly more regimented way. "But, I got you here, didn't I? Model after your dear old big sis and you'll sail on through."_

_It was meant as a joke, but Brandi didn't take it as one._

"_I'll never be a mom to her like you are to Benji and Liz. You're perfect…"_

"_Brandi," Mary couldn't help scoffing; the opinion was so ludicrous. "I am not perfect. And when it comes to the kids, I'm obsessive. Most people wouldn't consider that a good thing…"_

"_Mary, I'm not smart enough – I'm not responsible enough – I'm gonna put her diapers on backwards and try to feed her cookies before she even has teeth…"_

"_First of all…" silly as this was getting, Mary knew Brandi was serious. "You know how to diaper a kid; I've seen you change Ben and Lizzie hundreds of times."_

"_Not when they were newborns; you wouldn't let anyone but Marshall…"_

"_This is different," Mary cut her off. "Your baby is going to come out twice the size that Ben and Lizzie were put together when they were born; she will be nowhere near as small; you're going to do just fine…"_

"_You promise you'll help me?" tears began to trickle down, soiling ponds into the pillowcase; only agreement of that last question could stop Brandi's qualms._

"_Of course I'll help you," the taller gave her hand a squeeze. "But, you won't need my help," this was a stretch for Mary, but she would say it if it got the job done. "Squish, you are smart, and the responsibility thing – that's a choice. If you want to be dependable, you can be. That's all there is to it."_

"_You say it like it's so easy…"_

_Brandi was fatigued, no doubt, and crawling toward the finish line at the pace of a snail. She wasn't liable to accept anybody's word until her daughter arrived safe and sound. Mary remembered that feeling very well – where nothing anybody said or did was equal to the amount of fear she withheld for her children's welfare. But, Brandi's concern seemed not to be for the baby, but for herself._

"_Look…"_

_And now Mary took both hands into hers, sheltering them, feeling Brandi's heartbeat pulse inside her fingers._

"_I know that you can be a mom. I know you can. But, it doesn't matter if I know it – you have to know it, okay? This is a chapter you can write your own way; you and Peter and this baby can carve out your own path. It could be amazing, Squish…"_

_Mary's confidence came from her own idealistic picture of motherhood; she could see it all unfolding for Brandi, if only she were brave enough to let it in. The happiness she could feel; the joy and accomplishment would be like nothing else in her life to date._

"_A little willpower – a little sacrifice – the rewards will be endless; you'll see…"_

"_Mare…" still, she was cynical. "How will I know what the right thing is?"_

_At least she'd equated willpower and sacrifice to being 'the right thing.' Mary could learn to be grateful for that._

"_When you see her…" she whispered mystically._

_In her mind's eye, she saw the face of a fidgeting little boy donned 'Frack' staring up at her in nothing but absolute, wholesome wonder. And she knew no mother worth their salt could ever deny such a being the very best of themselves for eternity and beyond._

"_When you see her, Brandi…" blinking back tears of her own. "You'll know."_

XXX

**A/N: Two things none of my stories are complete without – Mary/Marshall sappiness, and something to do with baby birthing LOL! It's my staple at this point. ;) **


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I am glad some of you liked the Mary/Marshall warm-fuzziness, and at Christmas too! ;)**

XXX

Much like the NICU and the Sunshine Building before it, the pediatric waiting room at Mesa Regional began to feel like a second home to Marshall. He knew every nurse at least by sight, if not by name, and several of the interns, the latter of which had shocked him when they'd shamelessly flirted with him during his first view days in residence. Apart from the fact that he was a happily married man with two children, he became rather atypically uncomfortable when such women sidled up to him because some of the interns, in particular, looked no older than fourteen. Their freckled faces and braided hair put him in mind of teenagers, and he had spent many days shooting them down as politely as he could manage.

Therefore, when Marshall found himself traipsing amongst the temporary holiday decorations on Thursday morning, he assumed that when he heard a woman's voice call his name that it was just another nurse. He'd been admiring the red and green paper chains that hung in front of the receptionist's desk, trying to make out the childlike words that had been marked on the construction paper. From a distance, the loops just looked like a simple direction; it was only up close that Marshall could see the lettering.

So engrossed and squinting to boot, the lady had to say his name twice before he glanced up.

"Marshall?" and louder this time.

Still in the mindset of bumming off the women in scrubs, he began jabbering without really giving the individual his full attention.

"Yes ma'am, I'd love to help you, but…"

His suave, debonair line came to a screeching halt when he saw not a young, enticing girl, but a woman with fair, flowing amber hair and a befuddled expression on her face.

"Oh…" he ended his turn-down early. "Rachel. Sorry, I didn't see you there."

Peter's sister gave him a look that clearly said she'd noticed as much, but was tactful enough not to say so aloud. Once Marshall adequately registered her in his inner circle, he realized that it was slightly abnormal for Rachel to be instigating any kind of a dialogue. The pair of them had mostly avoided each other. Indeed, Rachel had learned early on to stay far away from Jinx and Mary because of her opinion on Brandi, and had mostly stuck with Peter.

So, if she was here, seeking out some kind of conscientious endeavor with Marshall, it must be important.

"Can I do something for you?" the man tried to appear more dutiful than he had at the onset. "I'm all ears."

"Well…I mean…I hope I'm not bothering you with this…"

"Not at all," he could be quite the gentleman when he desired. "Go on."

"I just…I've tried talking to Mary and to Brandi's mom about a few other things, and they don't really want to hear what I have to say, so I thought I could come to you…"

Rachel, in her fuzzy crimson sweater, her sleek, dark jeans, and high leather boots, was of a different breed than the Mann-Shannon clan. When she'd first showed up on their doorstep, Mary had confided in Marshall that she found the woman to be pompous and self-serving, always gabbing on about her job and her responsibilities, acting like she was better than Peter because she was sober. While Marshall had found some of her personality traits off-putting, he was willing to give her a second chance because he knew her intentions were sound.

In any case, the vibe she was giving off now said she felt isolated and awkward, and Marshall was a last ditch attempt at making some unknown concoction a reality.

"Well, you know we all have had more hassles than usual to contend with lately," he used this as a way to brush over Mary's and Jinx's cold shoulder. "If there's something I can help you with, I would be glad to."

His steady, consistent responses to her waffling seemed to solidify. Rachel nodded and saw that this man was definitely her best bet.

"It's um…it's about Peter."

"Yes?" Marshall countered.

"I um…I think – actually I _know_ – that there is something he would like to ask you guys – you and Mary – and he should, but I think he's too noble to do it, so I was wondering if…"

"You were wondering if we could lead him in the general direction?" Marshall guessed astutely. "I would be on board for that. Swallowing one's pride is always a hefty task – one Mary struggles with, I can assure you."

Rachel grinned at this, and it apparently invited her to go on.

"Well, you know that Holly is doing really well, and Doctor Banks thinks that she may be able to go home this weekend…"

"Yes, I had heard as much."

"But, I think that Peter is really worried about taking her home and not having Brandi there…" to her credit, she managed not to sneer at the mention of her own sister-in-law and kept right on moving. "I guess he thinks it would make it more obvious that she's run off, and he doesn't want Holly to have to deal with that…"

"Understandable," Marshall nodded.

"Plus, they live in that huge house and with Holly's leg the way it is, she won't be able to manage the stairs. So…" the favor part was coming, Marshall could sense it. "I mean…it wouldn't be anything permanent, but Peter has been tossing around the idea that maybe Holly could stay with you and Mary for a little while."

It was not until the woman was almost finished speaking that Marshall really picked up on what he was being expected – or asked – to do. Part of him was flummoxed, because he and Mary certainly didn't have an extra room to house Holly in, not to mention that he couldn't imagine Peter would want to be apart from her for very long.

But, the more he toyed with the idea, allowed it to ruminate in his brain, the more it seemed to make sense. With Christmas and Holly's birthday occurring the following Tuesday and Wednesday, they were going to be seeing quite a bit of her anyway. When she'd slept over on other occasions, he and Mary had just turned the former office into a little alcove, which solved the problem of them being out of rooms. The two of them playing host would allow Peter to get his bearings without worrying about Holly watching his every move, and Rachel had said it would be temporary. Maybe just until the New Year and that would give them time to see if Brandi was going to return.

All in all, it seemed a good compromise. Marshall just couldn't be sure how Mary would feel with so much on her plate already.

"Peter's discussed this with you?" the inspector decided to get this chore out of the way first. "He's mentioned that he would be game for Holly not staying at their house?"

"Yeah…" Rachel bobbed her head. "I mean, I know he wishes they could be together, and they will be – just at first, I think he wants to figure out what he's going to do if Brandi…" she paused, and then picked up with the rest of her explanation. "…It would just give him some time, you know? But, he doesn't want to impose is the thing…"

"Well of course; wearing out your welcome is a surefire way to make one feel discomfited," Marshall promised. "I, for one, wouldn't mind keeping Holly in the least, and I'm sure Mary wouldn't either, but I'll need to run it by her…"

"Oh yeah, definitely," Rachel smiled hearing him agree, even on a trial basis. "And, like I said, Peter wouldn't just be dumping her with you guys; he just wants her with people she loves so she doesn't worry about Brandi, at least through the holidays."

"We could all use an escape now and then."

It seemed that Rachel, with her flawless line of bright white teeth, just couldn't stop grinning since he was being so cooperative. Marshall suddenly thought back to when he'd assumed she was a nurse over his shoulder looking for a good time. What was it that Rachel did for a living? Was she alone all the way out in Raton? Marshall didn't know how close that was to Peter's parents, but something had to be driving that ambition to throw herself into work. Did she have someone to come home to?

"It's been very kind of you stay for such an extended period in order to be a shoulder for Peter," the best way to needle the truth out of someone was by starting with a compliment. "You've been so generous with your time. Surely your profession must be missing you."

Rachel gave a modest shrug, "I'm easily replaced, especially around the holidays."

"I don't imagine anyone is _easily_ replaced," now Marshall was flattering her. "We all bring something different to our line of work. What is it that you do?"

"I'm a tour guide," she revealed. "The company I'm based out of sends me to various geographical locations to do themed explorations for the people visiting. When I finished college, I wanted to be an architect and so I saw a lot of the world…"

"An architect," Marshall was dually impressed, and didn't hesitate to show it. "I had no idea. How did architect morph into tour guide?"

"Well…" Rachel danced around the issue for a moment before figuring out the simplest way to describe her change in careers. "I guess I realized that I was more interested in the history of old structures or ruins than in building new ones, so I found a job where I was able to travel and educate at the same time."

"Fascinating," the man meant what he said; it was amazing what you could discover about a person with just a little bit of poking around. "So, what's the most interesting place you've visited – should you be able to narrow it down?"

She chuckled, "I loved Athens – so much historical culture. But, I also was able to visit Santorini while I was in Greece; I don't think I've ever seen more breathtaking views in my life."

"It doesn't ever get to you?" Marshall was able to neatly turn the conversation aside now that they were chatting so pleasantly; she might not even spot the trap. "Living out of hotels and being away from home?"

And yet, the inspector ought to have known that any girl who'd dreamed of being an architect was well worth her intellect. Rachel fed him a kind of half-smirk, like she knew she was being baited into a deeper conversation. Might she be familiar with men who played psychiatrist and wished to burrow to the innermost gallows of her psyche?

"I think that question was code for, 'am I running from something?'" she deduced, crossing her arms over her chest and looking almost wowed by Marshall's craftiness.

"Well, you can't go spreading it around, but I do have expertise with women who use their jobs to shun dealing with their more tortured issues – although 'tortured' is a tad strong, I concede."

Marshall didn't have to mention Mary for both he and Rachel to know that's who they were darting amongst. Fortunately, she didn't press the point and instead tapped her booted foot on the linoleum, like she knew she could rely on Marshall, but didn't want to put herself too far on the line.

"I didn't always look at it as running," she began very matter-of-factly. "I think I just liked being on my own; I liked seeing just how many people lived differently than I did. I mean, Peter and I had a pretty unspoiled childhood; we played sports and had piano recitals; our father worked and our mother stayed home because our dad made enough money to support everyone…"

"Doesn't sound all that different from my upbringing," minus the curmudgeon that was Seth.

"Frankly, once I got to be in high school, I thought the way we lived was boring – almost _too_ idealistic, you know? I wanted some excitement, some adventure…"

All of this added up so far. Marshall had heard versions of this tale many times coming from witnesses who had grown up with privilege; they had broken out of their shell because they'd spent so many years in a box. Somehow though, he didn't think Rachel's story was going to remain so untainted.

"So, my parents sent me halfway around the world, and it was great. But, while I was gone…" the hesitation in her voice could not be missed. "…Peter started losing his way."

"The alcoholism, no?"

"My parents were ashamed of how he turned out," Rachel threw in rather bitterly, her eyes narrowing into slits. "I mean, they said and did everything they were supposed to – for the most part – but there was no hiding their disappointment. Their worst fear was that one of their country club friends would find out who they had for a son."

"Rough," Marshall would grant her such a term, and the one syllable seemed to be the catalyst for helping her move on.

"I actually quit my job for awhile because I wanted to get Peter into rehab; I thought he would need the support of his family…"

"A selfless act," Marshall was very good at saying all the right things.

"Well, not according to my parents. Hal and Dora Alpert didn't want _two_ lay-about children that weren't bringing in the dough – making them proud," she adopted a kind of gruffer persona when the spoke her parents' first names, as though she were imitating their attitudes. "They insisted I go back to work, that I set an example for Peter – I'm older, after all."

"But, by this point weren't you…?"

"I was an adult – I'd already finished school. Peter was in his late twenties before any of us even realized he needed help," there was some resentment weaving its way in now. "He didn't need an example set for him – he needed AA. But there was no explaining that to mom and dad."

Marshall was pretty sure he knew where this was headed by now. Rachel had been an upstanding citizen, someone Hal and Dora had seen as going places, doing big things; striking while the iron was hot. When Peter had fallen short of their expectations, they had needed her to pick up the slack, to show that it wasn't their fault they had one child who was a drunk, because the other had turned out just fine. It wasn't very glamorous, but it was certainly human.

"It took a _long_ time before my parents figured out that being an alcoholic is a disease," Rachel went on tiredly. "And sometimes they forget. They honestly meant well during all those years, and they never left Peter's side, but it was exhausting for me trying to uphold my end of the bargain – trying to make a name for myself so they could feel I'd accomplished something."

"That's a heavy burden to carry at any age," Marshall stated sympathetically.

"Well, I'm really not much better than they were sometimes. I'm constantly afraid that Peter's going to relapse, and I'm really stuck in a rut where that's concerned."

"How do you mean?" the man furrowed his brow, trying to grasp what she was going for.

"I don't know…" Rachel exhaled, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "It was just a lot of years where he _did_ relapse – setback after setback after setback, and it's hard not to assume the worst all the time. But, I know my concern comes out as condescension."

Marshall gave her a tiny smile to show that she was right about this, but that he forgave her.

"Part of its probably selfish on my part; of course I don't want him to fall off the wagon, but I also don't want to go back to that place where my mom and dad couldn't stand the sight of him and expected me to uphold the family name."

This ended on a kind of final note, and it was a lot for Marshall to process. Yet, he still didn't feel he'd really gotten an answer to his original question – although he'd gained much more along the way. Looking into Rachel's grey-green gaze, he was reminded of Peter; they both had the same forlorn look in their eyes when they strayed the path.

"So, in terms of working…" just to wrap it up in full. "You just stick with the globe-trotting to avoid those rockier memories, or what?"

"I do love my job," Rachel insisted. "I love feeling like I _did_ turn out to be someone my parents could be proud of – and they're proud of Peter too, now that he's coping. But, the travel does help keep my mind away from some of the things I'm missing. Peter and I aren't really that close and I may have a great gig as a tour guide, but I'm not coming home to a spouse and a kid like he is."

The air suddenly turned heavy with this statement, as though an anvil had dropped between the two. Marshall was willing to overlook it, but Rachel simply tried to cover up her blunder.

"Well…I mean…like he used to," she finished lamely.

Marshall was not a man who was classically prickly with too much emotion or ill-at-ease topics. After everything Rachel had just told him, how could he be, especially when he had continually elbowed her to tell him more? But, this felt like the first minefield they'd come to. The way Rachel chewed on her lower lip and kept her eyes on the ground showed him that she did not _want_ to speak ill of Brandi, but that it wasn't going to be easy.

He decided he would give her a bit of a head start – some leeway.

"We're all frustrated with Brandi," he came by it honestly. "It's just…you know…it's dicey for people like Mary and Jinx," this was not an excuse, but an explanation. "Jinx is going to show her hand early; she'll keep going to pieces until Brandi comes home."

He was very careful to make it sound like a 'when' not 'if' situation, but he doubted Rachel would pick up on it.

"Mary's going to pretend to be angry – and a lot of that isn't an act – but she's really wringing her hands underneath," this was as much as Marshall was willing to admit to, not even for a minute thinking about sharing his wife's meltdown from the night before. "You know firsthand what it's like to sweat over a sibling in peril, especially given what you just told me about Peter."

"Yeah…" Rachel's cheeks were still pink even under the harsh white fluorescent lighting, but Marshall owning up to the fact that Brandi wasn't a saint made her behave more magnanimously. "I mean…I know I make it pretty obvious that Brandi isn't my favorite person…"

"But, all that aside…?"

"All that aside, I hope I get the chance to know her better – to make up for any unfair judgments in the past. I know how much Peter loves her, and Holly needs her mother."

"Don't we all?" Marshall echoed. "For the record, I appreciate that you're trying to get in everyone's good graces – it's not easy being on the outside looking in. We're really not the type to alienate people – well, except Mary, but its part of her charm," he winked to show he was teasing.

Rachel scuffed her toes on the floor in response, "I'm not sure I got off on the right foot with Mary…"

"She'll come around," he swore. "Give her time. If nothing else, she doesn't want to make things more difficult for Peter, so that alone will have her leaving you be."

"Well…" Rachel put up her hands, signaling the close of their conversation, obviously glad it had gone smoothly and that she hadn't had to beg or get down on her knees asking for forgiveness. "Thanks for considering what I proposed with Peter. I know he'd really appreciate a few days to himself, to kind of figure out his next move, even if he's not up to asking."

"I'll see if Mary and I can put the idea in front of him," Marshall assured her for the second time. "We can be very surreptitious when we want to."

"As US Marshals, I would hope so."

Glad to have ended things on a positive note, the long, lanky gentleman slipped both his hands into his pockets and turned his attention to the hanging ornaments once more. The paper chains were draped high inside the loose ceiling tiles, and even though he was tall man, he still couldn't make out what was written inside the loops. Rachel joined him at his elbow and peered upward as well, and so he decided that if she was going to stay, he might as well find out if she had better eyes than he did.

"What do you suppose the kids wrote on the inside of these paper rings?" he queried quizzically. "I can't make it out, and I wouldn't think hospitals would assign homework to their patients…"

"They're Christmas wishes," Rachel declared, much faster than Marshall was anticipating. "For Santa Claus when he visits the hospital, apparently."

"Yeah?" the man rather liked the idea. "How do you know?"

"I was with Holly when a nurse brought hers – I helped her put it in words, obviously, since she's just learning how to hold a pencil."

"Huh…" Marshall now raked his gaze along the string, hoping to spot his niece's. "Think we can track hers down? What color was it?"

"Green…"

Though Rachel probably didn't need Marshall to find the hooked circle since she was already aware of Holly's wish, she helped him scout it anyway, and after a few minutes she pointed – three slots from the end where the decoration began to droop toward the ground.

"Right there…to the left…"

If Marshall stood on tiptoe, he could just make out the letters depicted with marker, Rachel's handwriting that of a scrawl. But, his breath caught in his throat as he read Holly's greatest yearning etched for all to see, strung amongst the aspirations of other sick children, many of which probably would not be home for Christmas. He reminded himself that even if Santa did not bring the little girl what she so desperately craved, at least she had that to look forward to – a home, maybe not her own, maybe her father's, but a home nonetheless.

But, there were some things a home was not _home_ without, and Holly's wish was one of them.

_10 hugs from mommy. XOXO. _

XXX

**A/N: I always wanted Rachel to be a character that you weren't sure whether you liked her or not. Peter's sister was mentioned a few times on the show, but obviously never seen, and I thought that given what we did see with Peter's parents that she might've turned out this way. My hope is that she is viewed as a good person at heart, even if she doesn't always carry out her "good deeds" the right way, if that makes sense!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I am very flattered if anyone is still reading this. I admit that I worry because, as much as I love IPS and still have it firmly on my roster, that the longer it is off the air the fewer the people that will want to read about it. I hang onto my "obsessions" for a long time, so I suppose there is no getting rid of me! Hopefully that isn't a bad thing!**

XXX

The afternoon waned on rather slowly as Mary and Marshall loafed around in Holly's room which, despite her improving health, was significantly more depressing without Ben and Lizzie to keep her company. Then again, perhaps the slow advancement of time was enhanced by the fact that there had been no additional word from Stan on Brandi's whereabouts. Mary didn't even know for sure if he was spending the day working her case, and she could hardly blame him if he wasn't – he had far too much to get done without worrying about Brandi.

Still, the mood around Holly could've been far superior to what it was, though no one was feeling self-aware enough to act on it. Each individual, be it Peter, Rachel, Jinx, or the two inspectors – they were all thinking the same thing. While they'd spent the first few days of the famine that was Brandi telling themselves she'd fled for some asinine reason, now reality was starting to set in. Like it or not, deliberately or not, she'd now been gone for almost three full days. It was ominous, no two ways about it, and fretting demeanors masking themselves as sullenness were becoming more prevalent than ever.

In the hope that Holly would not pick up on everyone's rigidity, Marshall broached the subject of Christmas while he and Mary were occupying her room, Peter dozing lightly in the chair near the window.

"Did you know, Miss Jolly Holly, that my _favorite_ holiday is only _four_ days away?" he tried to sound tempting and playful. "Four days – that's practically nothing!"

"Then birthday in five," Holly proved her smarts as she realized the distance between Christmas and her own day of celebration.

"That is exactly right, your birthday is in five," Marshall praised. "And you get to have Hanukkah too – my, you certainly are a lucky girl."

"Spoiled," Mary commented darkly from where she stood at his shoulder. "But, we'll keep her anyway," he noticed she was gnawing rather roughly on her thumbnail, a trademark nervous habit.

"Have you been thinking about what you want most of all?" the man's eyes began to dance and shine when he was with the children; Mary had always loved this about him. "Maybe some dolls or some dress up clothes…"

He was trying to avoid her bringing up her wish about her mother, and she fortuitously took the bait.

"Princess dress," the little girl articulated. "With pink and shiny gold…"

"Ooh, that sounds beautiful!"

"Would you like some lipstick, Poindexter?" Mary joshed his excitement about something so feminine. "Seriously, we have beauty and the beast right here…" gesturing with her hand back and forth across Marshall's and Holly's faces.

"You hear how she talks to a prince," he pretended to coif his hair and put on a snooty face, which made Holly giggle on the spot. "I think we'll have to relegate Aunt Mary to Court Jester or something…"

"Court Jester!" the woman squawked, smacking his bicep out of offense. "On what planet do you think I need some gaudy rainbow hat with jingle bells? You, with your mortifying dance from the other night, could certainly give that title a run for its money…"

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" Marshall threw Holly an exaggerated wink, glad to see Mary getting into the spirit of things after her confessions from the evening prior. "Between you and me, Ben and Lizzie, we'll have a whole royal family…"

"And mommy be queen," Holly interjected with a nod. "Mommy always queen."

Only the smallest of lapses followed this valiant declaration, but it was confirmation for both Mary and Marshall that Holly had not, in fact, been given a play-by-play of her mother's location, or lack thereof. For all intents and purposes, she must believe she'd gone on some kind of vacation, and would return in due time. Sadly, for as much as Brandi had been MIA during her childhood, that account wasn't so outrageous.

This was why Marshall fed his niece a hearty smile, regardless of whatever Mary's face had transformed itself into, and gave Holly's boy-cut an affectionate rumple.

"You're the boss," he promised, and this earned him another grin, tiny teeth poking against her tongue.

Opportune timing presented itself then – Doctor Banks gave a light knock on the door and allowed himself admittance, meaning the subject of Brandi was put on hold. Before announcing his reason for entering, the physician's eyes traveled to Peter's sleeping form, and then back to Mary and Marshall. Taking into account that the primary caregiver was crashed out, probably for the first time in days, he opted not to make a big deal and proceeded with whatever it was that he needed.

"Afternoon, all…" the man was very tall and burly, but his baby face gave him the appearance of a high school football player. "I just wanted to check on the patient; see how she's holding up…"

Holly turned mum rather quickly, blinking at her aunt and uncle like she wasn't entirely sure what to expect. After everything she'd been through since Saturday morning, it was hard to blame her for being apprehensive. Marshall scooted his chair nearer to the bed seeing her go quiet, her eyes very round inside her tiny face.

"Should we wake her dad?" Mary wanted to know, following the doctor's movements as he strode around to the opposite side of the bed.

"I don't think that'll be necessary," Doctor Banks was jovial and not at all agitated. "You're the aunt and uncle, am I right?"

This wasn't the first time Mary had been asked this, but she nodded anyway, "Yeah. Holly's mother is my sister."

Why was that important? The blonde did not know why she'd said as much, but wasn't in the mood to analyze her own thoughts.

"Then I think we'll be just fine; it's a routine check-up, nothing to worry about…"

But, this was far from reassuring in Holly's world, where doctors meant you were about to get poked with needles and shuffled around from room to room just so they could look at your insides or x-ray your head. No doubt about it, it would take a very skilled physician to really convince Holly that doctors indicated there was 'nothing to worry about.' Knowing this, Marshall wrapped his arm around her back and Mary took a seat at the foot of the bed, making sure not to disturb the bandaged leg.

"All right Holly, let me just listen to your ticker here for a minute…" Mary guessed that by 'ticker' he meant 'heart' but she thought it was dumb regardless. Working his stethoscope beneath Holly's gown, he cautioned, "It'll probably be cold, but that's it…"

The child sat stock still, as if moving would prompt discomfort, and after a moment or two Doctor Banks moved his instrument to her back.

"Take a big-big breath for me…" he instructed. "Like you're going to blow out your birthday candles, okay?"

Marshall put on a face of mock-astonishment, slapping both hands to his cheeks like he was impersonating a mime – until he spoke.

"Bet he doesn't even know you'll be blowing out those candles sooner rather than later…" he whispered while Holly tried to do as she was being told. "Think he's been eavesdropping on us?"

A tired smile worked its way onto Holly's face, and the second man decided he would grab the hook Marshall had just offered once he allowed the stethoscope to dangle around his neck once more.

"Someone having a birthday?"

"Only our Christmas baby – the jolliest, holliest girl I know," Marshall boasted, like he had something to do with it.

Mary turned disdainful, "Holliest is not a word, doofus."

"Correcting my grammar!" Marshall was more incredulous still. "Do I sense a role reversal?"

"Can it, would you?" his wife requested, though she secretly enjoyed when he made a fool of himself in front of strangers.

"Never, my girl…"

"You were born on Christmas?" Doctor Banks scratched through their byplay, walking to the counter and rummaging through the upper cabinets. "That's certainly special…"

"The day after Christmas, technically," Mary spoke up. "But, for all intents and purposes, she's our holiday bundle of joy…" she wondered if he caught the sarcasm in her voice at having to state something so sappy.

"Well then, Christmas baby or not, I still think it's more important than ever that we get you home, huh Holly?" Mary was glad the practitioner sounded optimistic, and that he was going through the movements without any melodrama. "I know you'll be glad to be out of this hospital as soon as we give you the green light…"

"We have an ETA on that yet?" the woman liked to have a timeframe for occasions such as these, and Brandi's fickle journey to Cimarron meant she desired clarity more than ever.

"We're taking it day by day…" now he was armed with an ear light and a tongue depressor, the former of which was likely to distress Holly because she did not like pointy objects near her lobes. "But, things are definitely looking up. As soon as I finish examining her, I'll have a better idea on a release time."

This was understandable, and so Mary kept her mouth shut for the rest of the rundown, mostly allowing Marshall to thrive in his element. Forever a stoic protector of children, he always did the job where Holly was concerned – probably because his wife was so insistent with Ben and Lizzie that she be the one to comfort. Greedy and hoarding, she might have been, but no one could keep her from her babies when they were suffering. It was lucky for Marshall that he had Holly to practice his cheerful goodwill on in those times of stress.

And after ten minutes of Doctor Banks fiddling around in Holly's ears, eyes, nose, and throat, plus giving her repaired tibia the once over, it seemed the prognosis was as good as he'd anticipated.

"Well, guess what Holly?" he took a seat in the cushioned chair that Rachel typically sat in when she visited, facing the toddler, Mary, and Marshall. "You are getting _so_ much better – today is the first day I've checked you that you haven't had a fever."

"Way to do it, sister," Marshall honored Holly so she would know the man's words indicated good things to come. "High five…" holding up his palm, she whacked with gusto, waiting to hear more.

"Now, I'm not totally sure how your leg is doing – Doctor Eubank will be by to see you later…" he must be referring to a surgeon, one that the two partners had neglected to meet. "But, from what I could see, it's healing nicely…"

"You're two for two," Marshall continued to boast while Mary just tried not to feel too restless about what was to come. "Give us the big one, doc."

Doctor Banks obliged, "Now, this might sound scary, but I promise it's no big deal at all…" Mary felt faint momentarily until he went on. "I'm going to have nice Nurse Shannon take your IV out – this here, in your arm," he fingered the tape that had been plastered to Holly's skin ever since her arrival. "Which means that you can have something to eat for dinner tonight – I hear the soup and Jell-O are very tasty."

Until the final portion, Holly had not recognized how monumental this milestone was. As far as she was concerned, the pesky needle in her vein had simply been hindering her ability to move her hand like normal, and bruising her muscles to boot. But, Mary knew she'd eaten almost no solid food since Saturday because they'd been so afraid she would throw it all up, or else that it would react adversely because of the intravenous medications. But, knowing she could now chew with her mouth just like the days of old was paramount.

"Jell-O!" she squealed gleefully, which would probably go a ways toward stirring Peter. "I want Jell-O!"

Doctor Banks laughed, "We'll have to see what we can do. But, if you're able to eat without getting sick today and tomorrow and your leg holds up, I would sure love to send you home on Saturday."

"Saturday!" Marshall burst with ample enthusiasm. "A whole three days before Christmas! And real food – you are living right!"

"Your daddy will be so happy," Mary contributed, wishing she could say the same about Brandi without ruining the moment. "We are too," that much was obvious.

Holly was probably the most ecstatic she'd ever been, hands clasped under her chin, not even bothering to trouble herself about whether having the IV removed would hurt. The sheer illumination prospering and blooming in her eyes was nearly tangible. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, mommy or no mommy.

"Home!" she shrieked. "I go home! I go home!"

"Well, not yet…" Mary was nothing if not practical, but there was no stopping her.

"Home soon! DADDY!" they ought to have known she'd want to share. "Daddy I go home!"

Her exuberance reminded Marshall of the fact that he was supposed to guide Peter into soliciting he and Mary for the option of turning the aunt and uncle's house into Holly's provisional living space. He'd already had words with Mary about it and, although leery of how long it might last, she was on board. Part of him would like to discuss it with the twins before jumping in with both feet, but he really couldn't imagine a scenario in which they would mind. Ben would surely be delighted with so many opportunities to flex his superhero muscles, and Lizzie would be glad to have her friend around.

And, now seemed to be the moment to touch upon the issue, because Peter jerked awake with the way his daughter's bliss was echoing around the room.

"What…?" he murmured groggily, eyes only half open, recoiling as the callous bulbs hit his retinas. "What's going on…?"

"Holls, take it easy for a second…" Mary advised. "Before you blow daddy's eardrums to pieces."

But, Peter was already up and stumbling unsteadily to the bedside, Doctor Banks inching his chair to the side so he could reach the eager one.

"Did I hear something about going home?" the father asked of the man, rubbing one eye with his index finger. "Not already…" looking to the professional for an explanation.

"Not for another day or so," he clarified. "But, I was just telling these two – Saturday is looking like our best prospect, and Holly should be cleared to have a light dinner this evening…"

"Daddy, I have Jell-O!" she bleated on, unable to contain herself.

"Oh…well, my goodness pumpkin…" Peter looked slightly off-balance by all the activity, even though he'd woken up to good news. "That's wonderful; save some cherry for me, all right?"

"No!" Holly yelped, purely to see Peter's reaction to her defiance. "Mine – all mine!"

"You've got her going now, Peter…" Marshall observed. "It's going to be hard for Mary and me; we've been seeing so much of her lately…"

Mary herself recognized him steering their brother-in-law in the general direction of allowing Holly to take up residence in their office, but her honed persuading skills were put on hold when her cell phone sounded its telltale buzz in her back pocket.

Peter's eyes definitely strayed from his lively child at the noise, as did Marshall's. They were all hoping for the same thing – that Stan or Delia had more substantial news on Brandi. Both Peter and Jinx had been filled in on the woman's random trip into Cimarron, the rented car, the crash, the third party – the whole nine yards. Jinx had refused to believe her daughter had been caught by some band of criminals and maintained that she would be home as soon as possible. Peter had mostly brushed the information aside, too focused on Holly to take on anything else, but Mary had been able to tell he was unsettled.

Still though, it was apparent they were all expecting some sort of lifeline, though Mary could not be sure that was why her phone was ringing. Once she maneuvered it out of her jeans, her theory was confirmed – it was not Stan's name on the display, but Seth's.

One look at those four letters produced great annoyance from Mary, not because it wasn't her boss or because she didn't want to talk to Seth, but because she'd forgotten – for the second time – that her father-in-law's arrival in Albuquerque was imminent.

"Shit…" Mary cursed without thinking, gaining her a sharp nudge from Marshall's elbow.

"What was that?"

"I mean…shoot…" she flubbed, but it didn't matter because the one who wasn't supposed to hear the swearing wasn't even listening.

"Who is it?" Marshall wanted to know once his wife had corrected her language.

"It's your dad…"

She could see the light dawning on Marshall's face as well, "Oh…man, that's right…"

"Yeah. We're really on top of things around here, aren't we?" Mary knew if she didn't answer soon, Seth would just leave a message, but she was preoccupied with Marshall and the six different things they seemed to have going on.

The man spoke under his breath while Peter got the details about the removal of Holly's IV.

"Should I hold off asking about Holly?" he referred to her being their houseguest.

Mary made a split second decision, which was often how she operated while under pressure. Her instincts took over and she followed them. Seth aside, she wanted Peter to be able to take a breather, and it wasn't fair to let him down when they'd as much as made their choice, even if they hadn't confided it to him yet.

"No, go ahead," Mary shook her hair out of her face to make room for the phone. "Your parents weren't going to stay with us anyway." And then, finally hitting the talk button, "Hi Seth."

"Hey there!" his voice was surprised as it floated through the speaker. "I thought I was going to miss you, doll! Busy?"

"Yes and no…" she responded truthfully, wending her way toward the door so she could allow Marshall to finesse the situation with Peter and not have to divide her attention. "But, I've always got time for you," never was she more polite than when she spoke to Seth.

"Such a lady," his timbre was as gruff, as smoke-burnished as it had ever been; he was like Mary's version of going home. "How's that niece of yours doing? I hope she's displaying the Mann fighting spirit; she's had enough influence, that's for sure…"

"Funny…" Mary couldn't help the chortle that escaped hearing him say as much. "Marshall was just telling her the other day to show him the 'Mann-Shannon' growl, and she corrected him – told him she was an Alpert. So, he's taken to calling the kids Critical Mass…M-A-S, Mann-Alpert-Shannon."

Ironically, that story sounded stupid when Mary tried to repeat it to Seth, like someone who had not been in attendance would not understand the ingenuity. But, Seth was quite the gentleman and didn't make his daughter-in-law feel ridiculous in the least for passing the tale along.

"Oh, that son of mine," a pinch of sarcasm worked its way in. "Always thinking. So, Holly's doing all right then?" he inferred, since Mary hadn't actually given him the skinny.

"Better today than ever," it felt good to say that. "They operated on her tibia yesterday and they're taking her IV out almost as we speak – she should be home on Saturday."

"Just in time for the holidays," Seth echoed the sentiment Marshall had displayed, making Mary more aware by the minute just how alike they were even if neither one of them thought so. "And, speaking of which…"

"Yeah," Mary cut him off, opting to go ahead and leave the room all together; because it was distracting trying to listen to her husband prod Peter and Seth's report at the same time. "You and Laura will be in tomorrow then?"

"As scheduled," he actually sounded energized at the prospect, which touched Mary for reasons she couldn't quite place. "Our flight is supposed to get in around five. Can we expect you or Marshall at the airport? Or the soldiers?" he rattled off with a laugh. "I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you'd already taught them how to steer a motor vehicle."

Just outside the door with Doctor Banks coming up behind her to fetch his nurse, Mary tried to reciprocate with a chuckle of her own, but she couldn't quite manage one that sounded very natural. Five o'clock on a Friday afternoon – where had they normally been this week at five o'clock? The hospital. Although it was silly to think Peter would mind one of them jetting off to the airport, Mary still felt funny about it. What could they expect from Brandi by that point? Would they all have just accepted she was never coming back?

Mary might be prone to assuming the worst, but she couldn't be sure about Jinx or Peter, or even Marshall. Seth and Laura lived in a separate universe than the dysfunctional Shannons, and Mary suddenly became agitated when she thought of Marshall's parents walking in on so much turmoil. In any event, the head of Operation Falcon wasn't likely to take the news about Brandi with a grain of salt; he'd have a few choice words of his own.

"You still there?" the man became impatient when Mary went blank. "If it's a problem for one of you to pick us up, I suppose the misses and I can take a cab…"

"No!" Mary yelled accidentally, but she'd been fighting since day one not to have her in-laws feel like an inconvenience, and Brandi was spoiling that plan. "No, one of us can come; it's just…"

She really didn't want to tell him about her sister, but it was foolish to think he wasn't going to find out anyway. Deep down, Mary feared Seth would blame her for Brandi's misdemeanors because he was a man who forever followed the straight-and-narrow, and saw to it twenty-four-seven that those around him did the same. Surely he would think Mary had been falling down on the job if Brandi had managed to slip through her fingers.

"It's just what?" Seth must've picked up on the fact that she was gaping like a hooked fish trying to find the right words. "You all have plans that day or something?"

"No…" Mary didn't remember the last time her and Marshall had any 'plans' that didn't include work. "Sorry, things have just been…" again, there was not really an appropriate phrase to describe the circumstances, but Mary would do her best. "…Well, hectic lately. My sister…"

Just that term – a simple two words – was enough to make Mary choke up, her breath catching uncomfortably in her throat. It took her back to her conversation with Marshall in front of the Christmas tree, and she felt just as vulnerable, just as raw as she did in that instance. No matter what though, she refused to start bawling over the phone; Seth had never seen or heard her cry, and now was not the time to start.

"My sister, she…"

Trying again only gave way for Mary's gullet to feel even more clogged to the breaking point. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she realized from Seth's next words that he understood that whatever she was about to reveal was painful, and that he wasn't going to make it worse.

"What about your sister, doll?" he could even be warm when he wanted to, if only with Mary. "Did something happen?"

"It's more what…_hasn't_ happened…" Mary spoke easier now that he'd given her some slack. "She's missing," the bomb was dropped. "No one's seen her since late Monday night."

As it came out her mouth, Mary recognized that the statement sounded as though Brandi had been taken or snatched, like any ordinary person in the wrong place at the wrong time. It did not speak to the fact that she'd likely gotten herself into her own mess, and was now unable to get out. Dimly, Mary wondered if she could bring herself to tell Seth as much, but he was already off and running.

"Missing?" he repeated, and although relatively calm, he still sounded outraged. "Well, what's being done to find her? Of course you're looking for her…"

"Yes, of course we are," his daughter-in-law was frank. "Stan's been following up on a few leads, but nothing's come back. Last he found, she'd rented a car with our half-brother and some other lowlife and the three of them managed to total the vehicle way out in Cimarron. No sign of them since."

Although the woman tried to come off very aloof, like it was just 'stupid little Brandi' screwing up again, the situation did sound far more dire since she'd recounted it out loud. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and that same picture of Brandi creeping across the desolate desert with no oasis in sight flashed into her mind once more. All the possibilities Stan had offered came hurtling to the forefront of her mind.

She'd been ejected so dramatically from the car that even the investigative team hadn't been able to track her down – what if that had happened? It was winter; it was cold. If Brandi was still alive after something like that, she'd freeze to death before she ever made it anywhere, especially injured.

Suppose the car had been stolen, and Brandi and Scott hadn't been driving it at all – some degenerate had crashed it, meaning the two renters could be anywhere. It was a needle in a haystack.

"I mean…I don't mean half-brother like…" Mary realized she was still rambling without really thinking about it. "He's a day trader; he's no good for Brandi; I've only seen him a handful of times, but a handful is enough. She chose to go off with him, it's not like he took her or anything; she just gets such moronic ideas in her head and then she can't get out…"

"Whoa-whoa, hold on…" Seth finally managed to get a word in edgewise. "Slow down."

Mary's voice appeared to come back to her after Seth quieted her down. She'd been bumbling along like an idiot, reciting a jumbled version of events, a sort of compromised edition that made Brandi look like a low-watt bulb and let Mary off the hook because she _knew_ her sister couldn't be trusted.

"Are you saying she left of her own accord?" the man had obviously picked up on the most important portions. "Why would she do that? With her daughter in the hospital?"

"Your guess is as good as ours," Mary said softly. "Brandi has issues. To put it mildly."

"Well, but if she's apt to take off than she's also apt to return at some point," Seth figured. "Is there anything I can do? Anybody I can call? I have contacts in the southwest; nobody around the Cimarron area, but I can look into it if you'd like me to strong-arm someone…"

Moved by his offer, Mary just shook her head even though she couldn't see him.

"No, really; it's okay. Stan pretty much has it covered."

"Well, if you change your mind…"

"I'll let you know," Mary promised. "I feel really badly about this whole thing, Seth – it's just been a nightmare, ever since Holly was brought to the hospital. But, Marshall and I are glad you and Laura are coming, and the kids will be thrilled; they really will."

Fortunately, he sensed that she was finished talking about Brandi and expertly shifted onto Ben and Lizzie just as Mary had hoped.

"I should warn you in advance that Nana and Papa Seth come bearing quite a haul of Christmas presents…" he sounded wily and anxious. "Those kids won't need any Santa Claus once we're through with them."

"Ah, I doubt that," Mary had to shoot him down. "Liz has already made about six different lists to the North Pole. But, the more the better as far as they're concerned."

"That's what I like to hear – folks who know what they want," Seth turned their greed into something positive. "Much like yourself. I'm sure you want to get back to whatever it is you were doing before I rang you up."

"I really should…" Mary was inclined to agree, even though she had not an inkling of longing to rejoin her husband, niece, and brother-in-law; she was tired of that room and tired of the mystery it was shrouded in when the space didn't include Brandi. But, she did what she had to do, "Marshall and I were going to float something by Peter, so it's probably best if I get back…"

"I won't hold you up," the note in his tone was final. "And I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah…" Mary whispered, still sick when she wondered where they'd be at that time. "See you then."

After hanging up, the inspector would've loved to just stay rooted to the spot, or else bolt, and it didn't even matter to where. She'd take the cafeteria with its too-high windows, spindly tables, and hard-as-a-rock donuts. Even the streets wouldn't look so bad, as cold and blustery as they were. The waiting room would be a last resort, but at least the decorations brightened the place up.

Anything to avoid going back into Holly's room and not seeing Brandi's face. Mary could just picture the unbridled happiness that would appear for her little niece if her mother were to walk in instead of her cantankerous aunt. It would be better than Jell-O, that was for sure. But, in spite of the fact that they'd all learned to function as best they could without Brandi over the years, there was still a hole – an emptiness – that crowded in moments like these.

And Mary, impatient to a fault, was tired of waiting.

Nonetheless, she knew Peter had to be far more depleted as a result of spending so much time in one room, and so Mary pushed onward, hoping Marshall had managed to have the clumsy discussion about where to send Holly once she had been given a clean bill of health.

Fortunately – or unfortunately, depending upon your point of view – it seemed Peter and Marshall were indeed having that exchange, Peter looking distinctly embarrassed.

"I had no intention of asking you…" he was saying, elbows folded over Holly's bed. "Honestly, Rachel shouldn't have said anything…"

"I'm glad she did," Marshall asserted. "It's tough to accept help sometimes, but Mary and I are more than happy to lend a hand."

"But, the timing is terrible…" Peter wasn't going down without a fight. "Ben and Lizzie will be out of school this afternoon; you'll have a full house with your parents coming…"

"My parents aren't staying with us; they have a room at a hotel," Marshall reminded him evenly. "It's Christmas, sport," patting Holly on the head as he brought up this pertinent fact. "Family togetherness time."

"So much family togetherness you can practically choke on it," Mary joked from her spot in the doorway, but she was careful to grin as she said it so Peter wouldn't think she was backing out of the agreement. "Peter, you know that I, of all people, wouldn't say yes if I didn't mean it. It'll be nice having Holly stay with us for a little while and easier for her without all the stairs…"

"I…I admit I was worried about that, but…" he was going to battle until the bitter end, refusing to take in such hospitality without making it clear that he would never broach the subject if he had other options. "She's _my_ daughter…" he declared his role under his breath. "She doesn't need another parent dumping her…"

"That is not what you're doing," Marshall was firm. "We're Holly's family; she's stayed with us plenty of times. We can handle a week or so under the same roof until you get things tidied up at home…"

Whatever that meant. In truth, Mary had been satisfied with the notion that Peter needed some time to regroup without Brandi, but now that she thought about it, what was he supposed to really _do_ during that time if they kept Holly? He could prepare himself all he wanted, but the fact remained that he was powerless as far as his wife's return was concerned. It was more about creating a stress-free holiday for Holly and the kids, without having to spend a typically bountiful time of year in a big empty mansion with no mother.

"If you want, you can bunk on our couch…" Marshall was kidding, a smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth. "_Really_ make it a family affair."

"Don't be so sure I won't," Peter wagged a finger. "But…it would be nice to have a few days to myself – I still have Christmas shopping to do, and our house isn't even decorated; we'd planned on doing it last weekend before all this happened…"

"See, he's convincing himself by the minute," the other man was proud. "You know we're not going to turn you away at the door; you can come see her whenever you want. And come New Years or so, it'll be back to life as usual…"

Peter gave a dramatic sigh, his eyes still looking hesitant as he glanced from Mary to Marshall and back. There was no doubt that he was weaning, however. Mary imagined that his mention of shopping and a house devoid of bedazzlement was really what was cementing his decision. He wanted Holly to spend Christmas in a festive atmosphere, and he would need the time to stock up on presents now that Brandi was gone.

"Well…what do you think, pumpkin?" he put the final decision on Holly. "Would you like to stay with Aunt Mary and Uncle Marshall over Christmas?" He was quick to rectify the rules, "I'd come see you every single day, and if you ever needed me for anything I'd be right there…"

The little girl looked vaguely interested, all thoughts of Jell-O forgotten. The way Peter was staring so hungrily at her, it was impossible to think he was ever going to let her out of his sight – and he wanted that clear from the beginning. He was not leaving; not in this lifetime.

"Stay forever?" Holly eventually wondered.

"No," Peter corrected her. "No, not forever – just a few days. For Christmas and your birthday, and maybe a couple days after that, and then you'd be back home with me," he didn't mention Brandi. Perhaps to make the plan sound inviting, he went on, "You love sleeping over at their house and Ben and Lizzie will be there, and it'll be so much easier with your leg."

"What do you say, Holls?" Mary chimed in appropriately. "Chez Shannon is the place to be."

A final blink, "You see me every day?" confirmation from her father.

"Every day," Peter promised. "No one could keep me away."

Evidently, Brandi's ability to run with the slightest breeze didn't mean Holly had lost trust in her father. Comforted by his vow, she gave a steady nod, earning a brief hug and kiss from Peter, who was probably beyond grateful that she'd cooperated so well.

"That's my big girl…" he mumbled into the top of her head. "You'll have fun; I'm sure of it."

"Then it's settled!" Marshall slapped his hands together, raring to go. "We'll have to get a room all ready for you…" even if it was just the office. "Aunt Mary and I are off to Grandma's Christmas recital tonight, but tomorrow we will be sure to put something together!"

"Gramma dancing?" Holly only caught the section about Jinx.

"Her students are dancing," Marshall said. "We're going to watch."

At this, she pouted, "I go."

"Ah, not today…"

But, a gentle tickle from Uncle Marshall went a long way toward producing a genuine smile, as did his promises of putting her up in the lap of luxury, whatever that might be.

"But soon, Miss Jolly Holly."

With a grin, "Soon."

XXX

**A/N: I would love to hear what you think if you have a moment! Thanks so much for anything you have already said!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: You all were so sweet to try and boost my spirits about how you are still reading. I so appreciate it!**

XXX

As scheduled, Mary and Marshall did attend Jinx's annual Christmas recital at the studio, children in tow. Although the daughter had tried to put on an animated face, mostly to lift Jinx's spirits so she wouldn't spend the whole of the performance dwelling on Brandi, the younger woman simply didn't have her heart in it. Apart from the fact that it would take all of her energies just to keep Ben still and undisruptive, Lizzie seemed downhearted since hearing that Holly would be taking up residence in their home. Not a reaction they'd been expecting, Mary had unintentionally reprimanded her little girl rather strictly for daring to display an emotion other than glee. It wasn't fair, but Mary's strain had prevented her from being rational.

So, they were a rather dreary foursome sitting in their plastic folding chairs in the dance studio, waiting for the lights to dim and get the show on the road. Ben was antsy already, even though Marshall had equipped him with a few books to glance through before things got underway. He wiggled all over in his chair, perching onto his knees so many times that Mary was constantly grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back onto his butt. Lizzie sat on Marshall's lap, seemingly examining her fingernails, looking bored and gloomy. Even without knowing the news about Brandi, the kids were obviously picking up on a thing or two, and Holly's eventual presence in their home was the first clue.

As if dour, yet frenzied children were not enough, Mary got far more than she bargained for listening to some of the conversations going on around her. There were high-society mothers abound, hair styled, holiday sweaters on their frames, and they were rabid for gossip. They whispered more than any of the kids in the audience, and Jinx's makeshift little stage in the dingy studio did not deter their high-brow rumors one bit. Even with the red and green strands of lights hung in the windows, a signal that would indicate Christmas not a time for hearsay, they didn't let up.

Mary got her first taste thanks to the woman to her left – although the inspector didn't look the part, this stranger seemed to be so starving for a good tale that she would hound just about anyone.

"It's awful, isn't it?" she murmured so sneakily in Mary's ear that the other woman had to fight jumping out of her seat, a la Ben. "What's happened to Miss Jinx…"

'Miss Jinx' must be what the students called her and, subsequently, the parents, but Mary was more interested in the first part of the comment.

"What do you mean?" baffled and without all her wits about her, Mary was dumb enough to fall into the trap.

"Didn't you hear?"

She was a tall lady, wearing an evergreen sweater that looked to be made of cashmere; the lipstick applied a perfect shade of crimson. Her earrings were little silver reindeers; a sight that had Mary wanting to stick a finger down her throat.

"Hear what?" she prompted, refraining from the desired gesture.

"You _are_ out of the loop…" sparkle-earrings turned arrogant at the drop of a hat, her stiff platinum hair in an up-do. "No one's told you about the daughter? How long ago did your little girl start taking classes?"

Effectively ignoring the latter segment, the other piece seemed to clunk into place rather inelegantly; Mary was slower than usual with everything going on.

Daughter? What daughter? _Brandi? _How would they know about her?

"The daughter…" Mary repeated, trying to regain some composure, wondering how occupied Marshall could be with Ben to be missing this exchange. "Jinx's daughter?"

"She ran off to have an affair with one of the employees from Alpert's Autoplex – right under her husband's nose! It's shameful…"

"Huh?" Mary breathed dumbly, unable to believe the gall this woman was displaying. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone knows…" reindeer-danglers just couldn't quit gabbing. "That's all the daughter does – sleep around. I heard she's on her way to Las Vegas to elope, which would make her a bigamist on top of being a slut."

Weak-kneed even though she was sitting down, Mary was stunned by all this new information. Brandi was having an affair – and going to Nevada? What about Peter? How could she possibly…?

And then it was like somebody whacked her on the head with a two-by-four. Never before had she been so dim-witted. There wasn't an ounce of truth in this woman's words, and probably not in the phrases of anyone sitting around them either. Brandi's absence had sparked intrigue in an otherwise quiet little studio full of rich stay-at-home-moms whose husbands brought home the bacon while they did after-school crafts and bake sales with their preppy children.

Wholly disgusted now that she'd gotten with the program, Mary gave her companion her very best glare, seeing to it that this chain of scandal was going to end so long as she was in the room.

"Since when is 'the daughter' a slut?" her fingers formed air quotes, and she wasn't defending Brandi's honor, but her own as well as Jinx's. "Do you even know 'the daughter'?"

"No, do you know?" eyes lighting up with the possibility of an inside story.

Mary wouldn't play her hand too soon, "And who told you there was an affair going on? Where do you get your news? The Enquirer?"

Now the woman picked up on the disdain, "I suppose _you_ know the truth," sticking a hand on her hip. "_Your_ daughter can't have been coming here very long if you haven't yet realized the sort of home Miss Jinx comes from. She's a wonderful woman and a beautiful dancer, but her personal life is a train wreck…"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, really…" platinum-up-do's demeanor changed at the drop of the hat once she thought she was of superior knowledge; her nose even seemed to elevate so she could look down at Mary. "We _all_ know Brandi…"

"Gee, I didn't know 'the daughter' had a name."

The stranger powered on, "She's a lowlife; her poor little girl is always getting dumped with Jinx or some loudmouth aunt that _my_ daughter told me is a real trip – apparently, she _swears_ in front of the children and carries a gun in plain sight," a hand went to the side of her mouth as she said this, as if she really needed to lower her voice; she was obviously hoping everyone would hear. "I mean, we do have conceal and carry laws in New Mexico…"

But, Mary had-had quite enough, "The _loudmouth aunt_ is a US Marshal, Barbie!" she got so noisy she disturbed Marshall and the twins beside her.

"What is going on?" her husband wanted to know, shifting Lizzie on his lap.

"Nothing, I'm fine."

Hoping Marshall would accept this; Mary took care to tone it down before going on even though she was still fuming.

"You ever think of that?" referring to her status with law enforcement. "And a loudmouth is still better than some fishwife who goes around using words like 'slut.'"

Thinking she was engaged with some overactive newcomer, reindeer-earrings gave her stories another go. Perhaps she thought Mary was shocked because she'd enrolled her child with Jinx without knowing her history. Well, far from. Her knowledge was extensive.

"You shouldn't worry about Jinx herself…" now she was pacifying. "She's a fantastic teacher; you can't blame her for her wayward family…"

"You sure as hell can't…" living up to her name with the cursing. "I don't have a kid in the class, Polly Pocket…" slumping into her chair and folding her arms haughtily over her middle, giving up the ghost. "You should watch who you strike up conversation with next time…"

The woman frowned, "I'm sorry, I don't…"

"Jinx is my _mother_," Mary spat, probably earning stares from Ben and Lizzie, not to mention Marshall, but it was worth it to see the look of sheer horror on her neighbor's face. "Meet the loudmouth."

It was abundantly clear that soccer-mom had no idea how to recover. Ravenous for gossip she might be, but this proved she was not nearly as on her game as she was feigning. Mary rather enjoyed watching her hands flutter around her neck nervously and the way she glanced over her shoulder as if someone was going to save her sorry ass. The only piece the inspector had to say had already been aired out; anything else would be gravy, and likely not appropriate in front of the twins.

"Just, stuff it why don't you?" Mary hissed in order to ensure she had the last word. "Catch a clue."

With that, she turned her back and scowled deeply into the faces of her husband and children, which couldn't be a very pretty sight. Marshall looked bewildered by such a stony expression, Lizzie with her eyebrows raised, indicating she could've gone for a dash more of her mother's lashing – it made the wait easier. Predictably, Ben wasn't even paying attention and was back on his knees, gawking over the back of his chair.

"Sit down," Mary said for what felt like the fifth time, pulling his shirt until he plunked himself rear-first. "This chair is going to collapse on you, and then you'll be sorry."

This caused Lizzie to start examining her own stool for flaws, despite the fact that if her own folding chair buckled, she'd land in Marshall's lap before any harm came her way.

"Is there a reason you are arguing with cheery holiday recital-goers?" the man leaned over his son's head to address Mary. "Was your eggnog spiked with something?" indicating the giant punch bowl on the table at the back of the studio.

"No," Mary snapped. And then, figuring she might as well let him in on it, she too arched her neck over Ben, which would at least keep him at a standstill for another minute or two. "They're spreading stories about Brandi like this is a water cooler. Where's Delia when you need her?"

This wasn't really a valid statement where Delia was concerned, and although Mary had expertly tried to be vague so Lizzie wouldn't ask questions, the people involved in the remark didn't get by her daughter.

"What about Aunt Brandi?" she piped up, nearly knocking into Marshall's chin when she glanced at her mother.

"Nothing, never mind," Mary dismissed her immediately. "I don't know why I expected anything less, honestly…" she went on to Marshall. "This place may be a dump, but Jinx has been able to charge a pretty penny these last few years with enrollment up. The would-be-mothers who come here are all rolling in the dough and don't have anything better to do than to make up crap about my idiot sister."

She rattled all this off in one breath, knowing Marshall would listen carefully, but in the hopes that Lizzie would keep her nose out. Ben was always the one who was quicker to snoop around, but he was too busy trying to get out of his seat to worry about anything else.

Marshall took care to stay serene after hearing the details, because he recognized that Mary was likely to blow her top in a matter of seconds.

"You mustn't let yourself get reeled in by idle, bogus rumors…" he said it like it was so easy. "All this is child's play compared to everything else; you need to let it roll."

This was so vastly unhelpful that Mary would've loved to smack Marshall just to unleash some of her frustration, but knew she would have to take a more adult approach. Unfortunately for him, her 'adult approach' meant that she wasn't going to stick around with this pack of rabid beasts any longer.

"Just forget it…" Marshall was usually so understanding; his attitude to 'just buck up' was rather disappointing. "I'll be back when the lights go down. I need some air…"

Standing up, attempting to ignore the pleading look in her husband's bright, albeit woebegone blue eyes, Mary pushed her way past everyone in their row, knocking programs to the ground. Well, if they were going to call her a 'loudmouth' or anything else less than flattering, she might as well earn the title.

Mary just barely heard Lizzie inquire, "Where's mama going?" before she shoved her way through the front door, causing the little bell to tinkle overhead, a sprig of mistletoe catching her eye as she stepped out into the twilight.

The night was bitter cold; the absence of the sun sapping any excess warmth from the atmosphere like a cruel vacuum. Mary, in her irrational rage, had gone out without her coat, much as she had with Peter when she'd joined him on the windy balcony. Sighing and swiping her bangs out of her eyes, she didn't really know what to do now that she was free. She knew storming out was no kind of a solution, but she hadn't known how else to keep herself from causing a scene. Her boiling point had seemed to be brewing for days, and anything was likely to set her off.

Standing on the sidewalk, she was reminded of when she'd stared through the studio window after her and Raph had broken up. Jinx had just gotten the job, and she'd seemed to be in her element pirouetting around on her toes with her little ballerinas. It was the first time Mary had felt inferior to her mother – there she'd been, fresh off another ruined relationship and back at the beginning, whereas Jinx had finally moved on. Somehow, no matter how far or fast the daughter ran, she always seemed to be behind – if not next to Jinx, than somebody else.

Stars were starting to appear above the blanket of velvety black that was the night sky, Mary pondering her misery a little more thoroughly.

She'd been behind in having children. It had taken a miscarriage and a slipshod hookup with Marshall before the twins had come along, although both of the latter portions had worked out spectacularly. The fact remained that she'd wasted many years dithering around, refusing to admit her feelings, refusing to recognize the joy a child could bring.

She was behind at work, and although that didn't actually bother her, right now it was one more thing on her list. Since Ben and Lizzie had been born, she'd taken a major backseat – voluntarily, yes, but even so. Delia had been promoted and was out living that life that Mary used to; carefree, devoid of panic and trepidation.

And she was behind with Brandi. This, indubitably, was the real kicker, because it was where she had failed so dramatically. She was constantly grappling for the ropes, urging her feet ever upward, dragging her sister painstakingly along to scale the mountain, only to have her slip on something as small as a patch of grass and tumble to the ground so they'd have to start all over again. How many times could Mary make that climb? How much longer could she stand it?

With this depressing thought to guide her, Mary turned from the glittering front window, the chains of lights shimmering eerily in the darkness, thinking she might grab hot chocolate from the coffee shop down the street. This would make up for her huffy departure in the eyes of the kids, especially since she was likely to miss the first dance.

But, no sooner had she whirled around than she ran smack into another moving body, nearly knocking the passerby to the ground.

"Jesus!" Mary exclaimed without thinking, shock taking over as she steadied herself. "Sorry…"

However, the piece of cardboard she was sure she'd collided with turned out to be Stan – short and stumbling, bald head probably freezing in the winter night air. Collecting herself, Mary waited until her boss had straightened his jacket and gotten his bearings before searching for the reason behind his presence.

"Evening, inspector…"

"Stan…" Mary used his name, shaking her head in disbelief. "What are you doing here? And don't give me that whole 'I was in the neighborhood' speech."

"Uh, well…" Stan cleared his throat gruffly; jamming his hands into his pockets as he purposely avoided looking Mary in the eye. "I just had something I wanted to tell you – was hoping I could catch you before the show started," gesturing indiscriminately at the window.

"How'd you even know we were here?" Mary proposed, knowing that their last meeting certainly hadn't consisted of anything involving dance.

"Marshall mentioned it," the chief explained. "Do you have a second, or do would you rather I held off? We can always start fresh in the morning…"

"No…" she objected, thinking if his news was anything unwelcome they might as well get it over with. "I don't know how much Marshall or I will be in the office tomorrow anyway. Holly's gonna be sprung on Saturday and Peter's having her stay with us for awhile, so we need to get the house picked up. Plus, Marshall's parents are flying in tomorrow night…"

"Seth's coming?" Stan sounded surprised; evidently, Marshall hadn't revealed everything.

"And Laura too," the thought was a dismal one for Mary.

She liked Marshall's mother a lot; there was really nothing to dislike at all. She was kind and quiet, very soft-spoken, always treading lightly and using words like 'please' and 'thank-you' so much you got sick of them. But, she and Mary had never really struck common ground; she'd always been more partial to Seth, and Laura always seemed content to just give her whatever she wanted. Given the uproar with Brandi, Mary was feeling apprehensive about how the perfect Mrs. Mann would react to so much mayhem.

"Then it sounds like tonight would be better," Stan concluded once his inspector had filled him in on all the happenings in their busy lives. "I don't have much anyway, just some tidbits…"

"On Brandi?" although Mary asked, her vision had strayed through the glass once more where the lights were beginning to go down, meaning the little dancers would soon be on parade.

Through the darkness, she could see the mother that she'd told off with her neck craned to the seat in front of her. She'd obviously found a more willing chatterbox and the pair of them kept shooting furtive glances out the window. The sight was not a pleasant one, nor was the image of Marshall trying to corral both twins at once.

"Yeah, on Brandi…" Stan was saying. "I just thought you should know…

Then he stopped, realizing he did not have Mary's full attention. She could still sense him at her elbow, tentative and slightly timid. Stan didn't do well with feelings, although he was a very compassionate man.

"Hey…" stepping out of his comfort zone, his fingers landed on her arm and she blinked at him, as if only just recognizing that he was real. "What are you looking at? Is something wrong?"

Mary had an immediate thought upon hearing this question, even with the stark wind billowing around her and lifting the brown leaves up off the sidewalk. A shiver escaped without her control, and so she wrapped her arms around herself to keep heated, wondering if it would really make much difference. She was cold to the bone all the time these days.

"Isn't it more what _isn't_ wrong?" she quipped ominously. "Seriously, the list of what's right is way shorter than what's not."

"Well, but…" Stan wasn't entirely tracking. "Did something else happen?"

Mary felt silly trying to unburden herself to her boss, especially with the petty comments she'd earned from the parent inside. The Mary of old would not have let such things rankle her, just as Marshall had cautioned. But, her guard was down and her defenses were low, and while she'd held her own, nothing could replace the concave sinkhole rapidly becoming wider inside her chest.

"They're spreading rumors about Brandi…" she pointed through the sheet with her bare hand, glad now that she could not make out those to whom she was referring because the performance had begun. "The moms who bring their kids here. I guess some of them know her, since Holly took classes with Jinx before she got sick."

"What are they saying?" Stan pressed.

Mary made no bones about it, "That she's a whore who's fooling around behind Peter's back," the woman was nothing if not blunt. "Which, sadly, is a better alternative than what I'm sure has actually gone down."

The shorter man opted to skate over the first exposure, and instead latched onto the second. If he was uncomfortable with emotions, he certainly wasn't at ease talking about Brandi's sex life, or lack thereof. Coughing gruffly as he had when he'd first arrived; he just shook his head and tried to pretend he hadn't heard the affair portion all together.

"Well kiddo…" he seemed empty without his file folders or papers to explain specifics, instead speaking from memory. "I'm afraid I'm not much further along on Brandi than I was yesterday, but I was able to find out a few things. After a second, very investigate search of the area where the rental car was crashed, it was pretty easy to deduce that if she was there once, she isn't there now, which means…"

"Wait a minute," Mary decided to head him off, as part of his story didn't make sense given her past experiences. "There was a second search? Why? I can't imagine the police department out in Cimarron really has the time to look for a trio of deadbeats…"

"Well, Delia and I…"

Again, she interrupted, "You and Delia? You mean…"

A little slow on the uptake, Mary felt the pieces of the puzzle slide in where they belonged. Even comprehension didn't thrill her, however. She was not a woman who was passionate about going to people who wanted to fall all over themselves to help her. Stan was a resource; she'd gone to him by default. Now what had he done?

"You…" the words were having trouble getting out. "You…Stan…" regardless of her exasperation with his heroic ways, she was still touched. "…Stan, you went to Cimarron?"

He was humble, "I just knew the detectives out there would call it a day after they examined the crime scene and I thought there was more to find…"

"Stan…" Mary wondered just how many times she could cite him by his name. "It's three hours away! You have things to do…"

"Not really," he lied. "It's a slow time of year, and I wanted to do everything I could."

Knowing that what was done was done, Mary also knew she couldn't give him too much of a berating, especially when he'd been so generous. She just hated to think of him frittering his time away when her sister might be long gone, and so beyond rehabilitation.

"So…like I said…" Stan continued when Mary merely frowned. "If Brandi was in the car when it was wrecked, she isn't still at the crash site or anywhere around it – Delia and I scoured the place. But, because of this, I'm really getting the impression that she wasn't a passenger on that ride; if she was, she would've been too badly injured to just walk away."

"Small comfort," the blonde groused, thinking that if Brandi ever showed up she was _going_ to get injured on the spot.

"Mary, I think she's still out there," Stan sounded hopeful. "Delia and I visited a few places around town trying to figure out if anyone in the area had seen two people that matched Scott's and Brandi's descriptions."

"And what did you get?"

"Not a whole lot," he admitted. "The only place that recognized the pictures we provided was a seedy little motel. But, they also said they only stayed one night – then they packed up and left."

"They…" Mary paused, waiting for Stan to explain more. "They who? Were there three of them this time, like before, or was it just Brandi and Scott?"

"I asked, and the clerk said there was a third person, but that he just dropped them off – he didn't book a room."

"Then he's the one who could've totaled the car," she figured. "Didn't the detectives out there dust for prints or anything?"

"I don't know, but this mystery man was in full-on incognito mode again – the hat, the jacket, the works," Stan wasn't done. "I still think he's the one pulling Brandi and Scott by a leash. They're amateurs. He's aces – he's probably why they haven't been found."

Mary exhaled slowly, because it sounded like Stan had wrapped things up. She didn't know whether to feel better or worse, which was why she rotated back to face the presentation going on inside the studio. The little girls prancing around like swans were tiny, probably about Holly's age. Mary wondered in the back of her mind if the group in front was Holly's class, and that she would be up there too if not for the catastrophe going on. One thing was for sure, healed and healthy or not, Brandi still probably wouldn't be in the audience.

She saw Jinx off in the corner, hands clasped beneath her chin, looking enraptured by what she had created. For the moment, she wasn't consumed with her disobedient younger daughter, which was just as well. When she found out what everyone was saying about the Shannon family, she'd be distraught.

The silence but for the cars in the lot revving up was too much for Stan. He peered upward into Mary's face, thinking he'd lost his thread.

"Look inspector, I think we can safely say that even if Brandi is in some kind of knot, at least she isn't…"

"She isn't coming back, Stan."

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them, spoken as though the breeze had carried them on its wings. No matter how she tried to deny it, Mary knew it was the truth. Brandi had proven, now more than ever before, that she couldn't be bothered, not just with Holly, but with Mary or Jinx or even Peter. Her self-esteem was so permanently shattered that it was immaterial how many times her sister or husband tried to boost it. If she would go to such massive lengths just to please Peter, just to replace some chunk of cash she hadn't even stolen in the first place, then her priorities were backwards and always would be.

Of course, Mary knew it was more than just seeking approval. Her sister had always run from responsibility, and Holly's illness on top of the drama at the dealership had been too much. She'd run without looking back, depending upon those like Mary and Peter to pick up her slack, to be parents to her child because she had chosen not to.

Then there was the off chance there was a third fiasco, just like the mysterious third party. It could be that Brandi had not flown the coop because of money or because of Holly, but for some foolhardy reason none of them had yet discovered.

But, Mary was so unbelievably tired of trying to wend through the delusional corridors of Brandi's mind.

"She's not coming back," she repeated, as if saying it again would make it still truer. "She's gone and done exactly what my heartless father did, and she'll end the same way."

Stan at least knew better than to say it would all come out in the wash, and instead adopted a more realistic approach. It was disheartening to hear, but it was nice that he wasn't simply trying to brush everything aside.

"You'd think she'd know how much that hurts, wouldn't you?" he surmised. "A parent leaving their child."

"I guess…" Mary wasn't so sure. "I know it's not fair to say she didn't really 'get it' as a kid, but she was only a baby when James ditched us. She never knew him – not like Holly. But, the worst part is that Holly probably won't remember Brandi if she keeps this up. I sure as hell don't remember much from when I was three."

"Do you really think Holly's better off without her if this is the way she's going to behave?" Stan asked. "Better to learn that lesson now?"

In the grand scheme of things, Mary supposed it could be chalked up to this, but it didn't make Brandi's actions any more excusable. As the older daughter, Mary had been deeply scarred by her father's abandonment because it was so vivid; she doubted most little girls had such strong memories of their six and seven year old years. And most of the time, Mary wished she didn't have those memories because they were so painful.

"It's not just about Holly…" she found herself saying, tears catching in her throat. "Doesn't she care about what she's doing to me? I know it's selfish, but would she really think that I wouldn't miss her or worry about her?"

"If she doesn't than she's a fool, Mary," Stan declared assertively, clapping her soundly on the shoulder. "Everyone knows you love Brandi in your own way, and it's a shame that she can't see it."

Was it? Mary thought it was far more dishonorable that her sister was oblivious to the kind of family she was leaving behind. Her relationship with Mary was nothing more than an afterthought.

XXX

**A/N: I promise this is going somewhere – and it's going there SOON!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: So, this is probably the shortest chapter in the story, which is ironic because everything is about to come to a head!**

XXX

Friday morning dawned dazzlingly bright and very frosty. So blinding was the early morning sunshine that you could scarcely see the lights on Mary's and Marshall's Christmas tree when they turned them on at eight o'clock. As the artificial pine was positioned directly to the right of the front window, it was impossible to garner any additional vividness from the bulbs until the sun shifted behind the clouds.

Ben was delighted to wake up on a weekday without school, and wasted no time racing out the front door in only his socks to see the 'snow.' It was only after Marshall explained that the dusting on the crunchy brown grass was not snow, but frost, that the boy agreed to come back inside and have some breakfast.

Without the pressure of going to visit Holly in the hospital since she would be occupying their alcove in a little over twenty-four hours, Mary decided she would go for a morning coffee run with Delia while Marshall fed the kids. He was glad she was getting out of the house and equally happy she was not going by herself. Delia would likely provide a much-needed healthy dose of buoyancy, assuming Mary would sit still long enough to hear it. However, with the way the third inspector had stepped up to the plate to check out the crash site in Cimarron, not to mention how many times she'd stayed with the kids, Mary was feeling a lot less ill-will toward Delia these days.

In her absence, Marshall knew the best course of action would be to get the house looking more presentable for both his parents and for Holly, though the former wouldn't be requiring a room. Since they'd spangled the living room with all of their Christmas décor the week prior, it had become cluttered – knick-knacks they couldn't decide whether or not to display, stockings falling off the fireplace, and junk they had tossed aside to make sure they could fit in the decorations they did want up. Marshall didn't even want to think about how the twins' room looked, and instantly chose to occupy them in this manner so they'd stay out of his way.

"All right, troops!" the father called to alert his children from where they were zoned out in front of the television, still in their pajamas. "You've got two weeks of vacation – time for a little spit and polish!"

"Spit?!" Lizzie exclaimed, looking revolted. "Ew! What are we going to do with spit?"

"It's an expression, Lizzie Lou," Marshall informed her. "It means it's high time we cleaned up around here. So, TV goes off…"

Ben didn't make a peep until the man grabbed the remote sitting on the coffee table and hit the power button. Then, he promptly received a look of outrage – nothing irritated his son more than having his 'Justice League' cut short.

"Hey!" Ben hollered. "I was watching that!"

"You can watch later," Marshall was unyielding, knowing he was feeling so energized because it prompted productivity, which kept his mind occupied. "Right now, I need you and your sister to get your room picked up."

"What if it's not _on_ later?" Ben argued willfully, scrambling onto his knees in the couch cushions.

"It's on all the time," this was definitely true, and if it wasn't 'Justice League' than some other show would capture Ben's interest just as intensely. "You can survive without one episode. There is far too much substance adorning your bedroom floor, and you know how Nana hates a messy room…"

"Nana's coming?!" Lizzie burst, jumping up from where she'd been sitting cross-legged on the rug. "When?"

"Tonight," Marshall reported. "And Papa Seth along with her. So scoot along; time's a'wastin'…"

"Will they bring presents?" Ben wanted to know, temporarily forgetting his annoyance with having the television flipped off.

"Mom talked to Papa Seth yesterday, and it sure sounds like it…"

"Them _and_ Santa?" Lizzie sounded flabbergasted by the prospect of such riches. "Wow!"

"Wow is right," Marshall wagged a finger in her face. "But, before you get any more gifts, you need to make room. So, Ben…" with a swift push, he unseated his son to the carpet, where he landed on his feet like a cat. "Hop to it."

"Our room isn't _that_ messy…" the boy donned Bullet never went down without a fight. "I just left some toys and stuff out…"

"It's all over the floor!" Lizzie ratted him out instantly. "I stepped on your action figures this morning and hurt my foot!"

"Well, so?" Ben countered quite skillfully. "Maybe next time you leave your dolls all over I'll just pull their heads off!"

"Ben!" Marshall scolded, but for once, his daughter took it in stride.

"Would not! I could yank the arms off those stupid superheroes any day!"

"You better not!"

"All right, you two…" Marshall stepped between them, glad Mary was not around for their quarreling because it would've aggravated her to the point where she'd resort to shouting, which would distract Ben and make Lizzie cry. "Cease fire, okay? Both of you go back and clean up whatever's left out," he instructed. "Ben, you work on all the toys. Lizzie, I know when you were digging in the closet the other day you pulled down a lot of your shirts, so you can do that," he didn't want his son to think he was playing favorites. "And I know neither one of you have made your bed."

"But, I can't reach the clothes bar!" Lizzie protested, trying to win her father over with her sweetness.

"And I can't _make my bed_," Ben rolled his eyes. "It's too high up; I can't get the covers tucked in…"

"Incapable though you both pretend to be, I know that you can do your best," Marshall insisted firmly. "The faster you get to work, the sooner you'll be done."

And finally, griping and snarling, the pair of them dragged themselves back to the bedroom, surely thinking this was a fine way to spend the first day of winter break. Chuckling and shaking his head, Marshall journeyed back to his project in the office, trying to spruce up Holly's space with whatever he could find around the house.

So far, he hadn't had a lot of success. He'd unearthed an old pair of sheets of Lizzie's, pink printed with little gold princess crowns. He had been attempting to string them up in front of the arched doorway, but the thumbtacks he'd been using weren't strong enough to keep the fabric aloft. Perhaps he'd have to resort to hammering in some nails, although Mary probably wouldn't like that.

Instead of worrying about the privacy curtain for the time being, Marshall went to work rearranging the couch and the desk so that the sofa took up most of the space and the desk was off to the side, since Holly wouldn't be using it. Maybe if he used a bit of flair, he would be able to get Lizzie to loan her cousin some stuffed animals, but he wasn't betting on it. Usually unfailingly kind, she had seemed jealous when she'd heard Holly was going to be staying for a few days.

Marshall was just trying to figure out how to block a space for Holly's wheelchair that would keep it out of the way while she was sleeping when he heard the knock on the front door. Pausing in his quest, he actually glanced around the room before his gaze flickered to the source of the noise, as if he hadn't understood where it had come from. Mulling over who would come to call at nine thirty on a Friday morning when every party in the house would generally be at work or school, Marshall left the alcove and went to answer.

Much like the day Rachel had showed up, Marshall faced the person on the other side of the frosted glass without knowing who he was looking at. It was a man – an older man – with graying hair and chiseled cheekbones. The shape of his face was almost captivating; for someone who was clearly aging, his skin was remarkably smooth, forested in a silvery goatee. It was really his eyes, however, that drew Marshall in. They were a stunning shade of pure sky blue, like two brilliant lightened jewels in his face.

"Hi…" Marshall got over the charming good looks as quickly as he could. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe…"

He oozed confidence; apparently physical appearance wasn't his only God-given trait. It was as though he had not a care in the world, like he'd known Marshall his whole life and dropped by for a chat.

"Is Brandi here?" he finished.

If Marshall was briefly thrown by this man's offhand behavior, he was downright shocked by who he asked for. Nonetheless, he wasn't a US Marshal for nothing, and he slated his poker face without thinking twice.

"Um…no…" starting with the truth was no problem. "Brandi doesn't live here," maybe then he'd just go away, and Marshall could give a description to Stan once he was gone. "Is there a message we can pass along?" digging for clues.

"Oh, no – no message," the poise never wavered, not even an inch. "Is Mary around then?"

Marshall had to fight not to furrow his brow. Now he wanted Mary? What for? What sort of person would know both of them, but not know enough about Brandi to be privy to the knowledge that she was missing in action?

"Mary went out for coffee," the inspector went with honesty here as well, like if he played dumb maybe he would gain a few more nuggets of information. "Do you want to come in and wait for her?"

Marshall had no idea what made him invite the man over the threshold, but he'd been following his intuition. Something told him it was unwise to let this stranger get away. With everything they'd all been ensconced in as of late, it was hard not to scent out something fishy with an outsider coming to the door and looking for Brandi.

To his relief, the man took the bait and strode right onto the hardwood, thumbs in his pockets and blinking interestedly around the house. It was a different kind of curiosity than most people would display; he seemed to be taking it in like he'd been expecting it, like it met some sort of preconceived notion in his brain. Marshall definitely made note of this as he led the visitor into the kitchen.

"Can I get you something to eat?" he couldn't entirely squelch his need to be a gentleman. "We have bagels…"

"No thanks," he waved a nonchalant hand. "I'll just hang out if that's okay."

"Sure."

For something to do, and so he could have a moment to gather his thoughts, Marshall did fix himself a bagel, making quite a production of spreading cream cheese while the guest made himself at home on a barstool at the island. Internally, he indexed what the man was wearing – a black jacket that zipped up the middle and a pair of worn jeans. The plainest, most generic clothes he could have put on.

"I didn't catch how you know Mary and Brandi," Marshall tried to sound casual.

"Oh, from awhile back," he was proficiently vague. "Just thought I'd stop in for a catch-up. You're Brandi's husband? Peter?"

Thrown by the assumption, Marshall knew he'd stated when he'd first opened the door that they weren't in Brandi's house. Hadn't he been listening?

"No, I'm Mary's husband," he corrected. "Marshall. And, you are…?"

"Jim," there wasn't even a sputter of fear in his face.

Something told Marshall to stick out his hand, which Jim shook, "Nice to meet you."

"You too."

The uneasy feeling in Marshall's stomach didn't go away. He began to feel very hasty for letting him in the house, even though he had handcuffs dangling from his coat pocket by the door. His glock was in the lockbox on the top shelf of the closet, should he need it, but it wasn't as if there would be time to grab it if it came to that. The kids were in the bedroom. What had he been thinking, mingling with a complete unknown while his son and daughter milled just down the hall?

Still though, all was not lost. Once again, Marshall reminded himself of his profession and how sly he could be when he wanted. He had the strong suspicion that, whoever this person was, he was probably the third individual that had been running around with Brandi and Scott. If he could keep him long enough, maybe he could steal away for his phone and call Stan.

"So, you've never met Peter then, huh?" any sort of discussion would work. "Have you seen Holly?" trying to find out if he even knew who Holly was.

"No, I've never seen either of them," he disclosed. "Brandi tells me they're amazing though, the both of them."

"Yes…" Marshall agreed. "They are. You talk to Brandi recently?"

"Day before yesterday, I think it was last," Jim guessed.

Alarms went off in Marshall's brain so erratically that he had to keep from just hounding this stranger for more. He'd spoken to Brandi – as recently as Wednesday? That was the day she was supposed to have returned to the hospital to oversee Holly's surgery. This was who she'd been tied up with. But why? What did he have? Money? That was a possibility.

"Brandi's a good girl," he soldiered on with a steady nod. "I've just been helping her out with a few things, you know?"

Marshall knew all right, but the rest of his investigation was going to have to wait. Lizzie's pitiful whine sounded from down the hall, likely to tell him she was far too incompetent to continue cleaning up.

"Daddy, can you help me put my clothes up?!"

His daughter was a genius. He wasn't going to spare a moment to assist her in hanging up shirts and dresses, but it gave him the perfect opportunity to skirt the room to grab his cell – to call Stan and tell him they had a lead. The man in front of him seemed ignorant to the sort of information he was feeding the inspector, which made it all the more incredible.

"Kids, you know…" Marshall gave a shrug and a jaunty smirk, like they were having tea and muffins. "Give me a minute, won't you? We can keep talking…"

"You go on," Jim insisted. "I can wait."

He didn't need any more encouragement than that. Trying not to look too overeager, Marshall marched down the hallway, hoping he wasn't looking over his shoulder with every passing step.

Not wanting to leave Lizzie completely in the lurch, he stuck his head through the door to tell her he'd been detained.

"Just a second," he said. "I have something I need to take care of; just put the clothes on their hangers and leave them on the bed for mama or me to hang up later…"

He'd already turned on his heel to stride onward when Ben got in on the action.

"Hey, wait!" the child practically bellowed. "I can't find my Iron Man! Help me look!" he was on the floor amidst a pile of superhero action figures; how he knew one from the other was really beyond Marshall, but one thing he could be sure of was that he didn't have time for it right now.

"I'll help you look later," he promised. "Right now, I'm busy…"

"But he's my _favorite_!" this wasn't true, but Ben was irritated about being made to work on a Friday morning. "What if I lost him?"

Knowing that things might go faster if he stepped in for a swift, firm talking-to, Marshall galumphed over the mess on the ground, nearly tripping thanks to all the garbage the kids had left out during their many playtimes.

"Listen…" Marshall was stern, but not overly so since he was in a hurry. "I said I'm busy; you're both big enough to…"

But, that was when he saw it. It stared straight at him, and the longer he looked at it, the more horrified he became. The awareness came slowly, like sand draining through an hourglass; only he wasn't losing consciousness, but gaining it with each passing second. Perhaps the reason it was so hard to conceive was because he didn't want to – he didn't want to believe what was all-but hitting him on the head.

The face. The face of the man in the kitchen was pasted on his children's bedroom wall.

There he was. Of course, the image Marshall was looking at showed a person forty years younger; his hair was not grey, but a wavy, thick reddish-brown. His flesh was less hardened, and he boasted no facial hair. And yet, it was those rich, cobalt eyes that gave him away. There was no mistaking them, even as he gazed back at Marshall like some Polaroid Mona Lisa, a five-year-old version of Mary sitting on his lap at a round wooden table.

He was James. He was Mary's father.

Almost immediately after Marshall came to terms with this realization, his survival instincts kicked in. There was a felon in his house. A felon who had held up banks, who had touted guns not for good, but for evil. An FBI Most Wanted was sitting in his kitchen. What was going to happen when Mary got home? What about Ben and Lizzie?

The final nail in the coffin was what needed to be dealt with in the here and now. Turning into his most dangerous, most scolding self, Marshall faced the twins and spoke with nothing but absolute graveness.

"Both of you listen to me, right now."

The hard, sharp quality to his voice definitely attracted Ben, and Lizzie looked scared that she'd bothered her father with her hanging-issues. Far from.

"I want you to stay in here and work on your room, and if you finish you need to play a game – you do not come out until someone tells you to. Do you understand?"

Lizzie's eyes grew very fearful, "Why can't we come out?"

"I need you to do what I tell you," Marshall absolutely would not give her a straight answer. "This is very important. Ben…" he was who he was most worried about, what with his proclivity for eavesdropping. "I'm serious, spark. No fooling around. You stay put. Got it?"

He locked eyes with his son, willing him, internally begging him to take the instruction for what it was, to not give in to the need to know everything. It was imperative they take note, because he could not even begin to fathom how Mary would react if she knew James had seen their children. This brought to mind what she was going to do once she saw who had come to call, but there was nothing he could do about that.

"I…is something…why…?" even the boy looked confused.

"I don't want you to worry," Marshall backed off just for a minute. "You either, Lizzie. But, I do need you to listen. Ben, you look after your sister, understand?"

It was this last part that probably sealed the deal; it made Ben feel significant, like he had a role. As it was, he gave a nod and licked his lips, preparing to assist like a good superhero would.

"Okay, dad."

"Okay."

And without further ado, Marshall dashed back to the door and closed it soundly behind him.

XXX

**A/N: I promise that this was not just some random happening I threw in for effect! It will all tie together (hopefully, if I double-checked my stories LOL!) And, I guess this bears repeating, but since I set the first of this series of stories in the middle of season four, nothing beyond the middle of season four that happened on the show happened in this series (if that makes sense). So, James hasn't been dead like he was on the show (but, you all probably got that since Scott died on the show too and he wasn't dead here). I hope this isn't confusing and that you are enjoying!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I am glad I surprised at least some people with the last chapter! Hopefully you enjoy the next one!**

XXX

Even once he had absolved himself of the kids, Marshall still wasn't sure what to do. Funny, how five minutes ago he'd been ready to play mind games with the best of them, only to be knocked off his feet in no time flat. It was different when it was family – or whatever you wanted to call James. Nonetheless, this whole nightmarish scenario was hitting Marshall faster than he was ready for it.

How could he possibly know how to act? Did he continue to play it cool? Until when – until Mary got home? Something told him that even though his wife was indeed a trained inspector, she wouldn't be able to keep her alarm from showing once she saw who was standing in their midst. Marshall also didn't like to think about what would occur if he _didn't_ show his hand; Mary walking in on he and James chatting like old friends would be sure to give her a heart attack.

No, even though he despised himself for it, Marshall knew he was going to have to concede defeat. If things got ugly, he could overpower James, gun or no gun. Something deep inside didn't think they'd be resorting to that, but he couldn't say why he held such a hunch.

Feeling as though his feet had lead in them, Marshall stodgily made his way back up the hall, wiping palms that had become increasingly sweaty on the old jeans he'd been wearing in his preparation of cleaning the house.

James was right where he'd left him, drumming his fingers on the countertop, wholly blasé. Now that Marshall saw him for who he was, it all made sense. The man was a professional at keeping people out of his business, at swaying those against him to see his side of the coin. Of course he wasn't nervous. He was a con.

"Your girl all right?" he queried over his shoulder.

Something about the phrasing caused Marshall to feel as though his chest had been drowned in ice. Walking into the kitchen, he knew he looked as aghast as he felt, mouth halfway open, eyes racing in all directions, scanning the face of the person who had caused Mary so much grief – so much unresolved and unbelievable sadness.

For that matter, hearing Lizzie called 'his girl' was eerie. She was 'his girl' of course, but that moniker had always been reserved for Mary. If James were any kind of a father, any kind of a human being, he would know this. He would not have mistaken him for Peter. He would know exactly who had shouted from the back room and that she had a twin – that they were the love and light of Mary's life. They would be his grandchildren, his heart and soul.

But, he was none of those things. He was a just a runaway fraud who was now looking at Marshall's pale face with mild amusement.

"Your girl…" he repeated. "She okay?"

Marshall's breath snagged inside his throat, and the accusation surged from his lips before he could help himself; the dam broke and the water flowed downstream.

"You're Mary's father."

It was a whispered exclamation; the urgency was apparent, the way Marshall hushed like he couldn't believe his eyes or ears. Raptly, he stared at James, shaking his head and wondering fervently what was going to happen next.

As if the whole development wasn't sickening enough already, James seemed absolutely unruffled by his cover being blown. With a modest half-smirk on his face, he held up his hands and bowed his head – caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"What gave me away?"

Why wasn't he afraid? Why wasn't he cowering at Marshall's feet? He had to know he was a US Marshal. He ought to be terrified. It was galling that he was not.

"A…picture…" he spluttered moronically. "There's a picture of you in the kids' bedroom…" he instantly wished he hadn't mentioned the kids, but James already knew about one of them. "What…why are you here?"

As soon as the question took flight, Marshall knew that the answers were going to be endless, and probably none of them satisfying, but it was a reflex to interrogate. It didn't really matter what he was told anyway; if Marshall had his way, the guy was going to jail the minute he got the most knowledge about his existence that he was going to.

"Well, I came to see Brandi…" he was awfully forthright for a felon. "We hooked up a few days ago so I could transfer the rest of the money, but then she took off; I was thinking she might come to Mary's…" a shrug. "It's not the grand entrance I was looking for down the road, but you do what you have to…"

Marshall had not a clue what to make of this. It seemed he'd been right about James and the younger daughter though. He was the secret piece of the unholy trinity that was made up of Brandi and Scott. It inspired nothing but disbelief; he wasn't even Marshall's father and he was still lost for words.

"So, you were just going to show up on your daughter's doorstep – a daughter you haven't seen in over forty years?" the incredulity had just been masquerading as fury. Marshall's voice climbed up an octave and heightened several pitches in volume, "Do you have any idea what she's going to think when she sees you here…?!"

But, no sooner had he finished his sentence than the sound of the front door being unlocked met their ears. Marshall panicked, hating that he was acting so defenseless, but he would clean up once Mary materialized. It seemed that moment was going to be upon them in no time, and it was like a train wreck – Marshall longed to stop it and yet couldn't. He didn't know how. This was one calamity he could not fix.

"I was here to help Brandi…" James insisted, ignoring the clicking locks. "But of course I've wanted to see Mary for ages…"

"How could you? How could you just…?"

The examination was no more. Mary and Delia appeared, each carrying a coffee, Mary with her back turned to shut the harsh cold out onto the front stoop. James, too, was not facing the hatch, but was still focused on Marshall. The women would only be able to see the back of his head, but they were definitely going to pick up on the shell-shock the inspector was displaying.

"Hello!" Delia trumpeted, her cheerfulness a severe and unwelcome contrast to the hell that was about to break lose. "Where are those darlings? We grabbed some hot chocolate on our run!"

"Marshall…" Mary flung her bag onto the couch and deposited her keys and sunglasses on the end table, sweeping her bangs out of her eyes. "Why is there a car in the…?"

The sound of her voice obviously meant that James could not reel himself in. After all, he hadn't heard it in forty years. Lower, deeper, more mature and less childlike, he still knew the timbre of his daughter no matter how much time had gone by. Marshall watched in horror as he stood from his stool and turned around, as though in slow-motion. To his credit, he was not smiling, but there was an inkling in those eyes that showed just how rapacious he truly was.

The husband felt like he'd stepped into a movie – a horrible dark drama that would have most individuals weeping in their seats. He knew he was bearing witness to the reunion Mary had envisioned in her head millions of times, but he also knew that no matter how she'd pined for her father, she'd never really feel anything but rage and misery if he ever returned.

The look on her face nearly ripped his heart clear out of his chest. If he was astonished, it was nothing as to how Mary appeared. Enormous green eyes broadened so they seemed to fill her entire face; they were spinning like the earth itself, two magnificent globes whose centers reflected the scene of a man who'd torn her, cleaved her soul right in half. Like Marshall, Mary's lips fell open, forming a tiny space just big enough for one to poke their finger through – like they did with Ben and Lizzie when they were babies and were trying to wiggle spoons into their mouths.

There she stood, coffee in hand, jacket halfway unzipped, Delia looking utterly bewildered beside her. The real heartbreak was in those orbs, so vast in what suddenly seemed an unnaturally small face. Marshall saw nothing but agony; he could taste the torment and practically hear her heat beating from ten feet away.

Bizarrely, the first word she managed to speak was just to finish her question.

"…Driveway?"

It seemed to act as a stimulant. Speaking activated her vocal chords, which began to vibrate, which in turn made her eyes sting and burn, pools of tears gathering at lightning spread. Mary's hands started to tremble; she might drop her coffee at any moment, but the way she was trying to breathe just to maintain composure drove all other thought from her mind.

She was dreaming. She absolutely, one hundred percent, had to be dreaming. Her father was not standing in her kitchen. He was not talking to Marshall. It was not his car out front. He had not walked her floors, sat in her chairs, appeared on her doorstep just as she had imagined he would over and over and over again. She'd waited forty years.

The day had not finally arrived.

Shutting her eyes tight, Mary foolishly thought that if she just tried to back up, tried to rewind, that this would not be happening to her. But, when she reopened and took in the landscape once more, he was still there. And all he did was stare at her.

Was he real or not? He didn't move; he didn't speak. What if it wasn't really him?

"Look at you, sweetheart…"

It was him all right. Mary felt weak-kneed just hearing him, but her innards were twisting and writhing in her gut like she was going to vomit any second. James did not help this in the least when he left Marshall at his post and went marching across the hardwood like he owned the place.

He was extending his arms. Now he grinned, and the sight alone was enough to make Mary pass out. What if he touched her? What would she do? Where would she run?

There was no time to figure it out. He was already there – she was in his arms, trapped in his embrace, her chin over his shoulder as she stared blankly at Marshall in that otherworld beyond the living room. Something in the most subterranean depths of Mary's heart wanted to enjoy this moment. Her father – her daddy, her one-time-hero – was hugging her. They were together again; she was his and he was hers. It had been her greatest fantasy as a little girl that he would return and shelter her close just like this.

But, regardless of how she attempted to revel in it, she couldn't get pass how alien it was. His contact was not comforting, but close to repulsive. She felt prickly being so near to him and wanted to paw him away, but couldn't make herself do it. Eventually, he took the hint and stepped back, marveling at her like he saw nothing at all strange about the fact that they were here sharing each other's company after so many years apart.

"Jesus, you are gorgeous…" he praised, running a hand over her honey-blonde hair, which produced tingles that made Mary feel like she was having a stroke. "What is it about this face? Just like when you were in grade school."

It was all too surreal for Mary. She was outside herself, but not enough to finally collect her bearings. James was a felon. He was a criminal. This pattern pounded itself into her brain like a sledgehammer whacking her skull. It was the very strong rational portion of her US Marshal mind kicking into overdrive.

He is a felon. He is a criminal. He is a felon. He is a criminal.

She had to get him out of the house.

Her first and only concern, once she snapped into gear, was not for herself, but for the kids. Where were they? She was going to have to assume the bedroom because she was incapable of talking in front of this man. The only goal she had was to get rid of them. She could not bear the thought of James interacting with them, of him seeing them and vise versa. He would be charming and courteous, she was sure of it, and there was no chance in hell she was giving Ben and Lizzie any kind of opportunity to warm up to him. They were hers. Hers and only hers. No part of their flawless, five-year-old selves belonged to James.

Some force drove her to grab Delia's arm in a vice grip and drag her out the front door they had just come through. Marshall had to be going crazy by this point. She had said absolutely nothing; had offered no reaction whatsoever, but now she was driven by blind endurance. It was like when she'd been abducted; nothing else mattered but getting out alive and avoiding as much hurt as possible.

Somehow, Mary wasn't sure how, they ended up on the front porch with the door having shut behind them. Delia looked sincerely confused, her chocolate brown eyes scanning all over Mary's stupefied face for evidence as to what was going on.

"What…what is happening?" she blurted out. "Who is that? Why is he…?"

Mary seized her by her forearms and spoke with a desperation she didn't know she possessed.

"I need you to take the kids."

Every word was quavering, each one several syllables longer because Mary's voice was shaking so violently, not to mention her fingers on Delia's coat. The other inspector was shaking her head, not as if to say no, but to indicate she was still totally lost.

"What? Why?"

"I need you to take Ben and Lizzie!" it was all Mary could get out, and loudly this time as if to emphasize just how essential it was. "Please! Please take them…take them anywhere; just get them out of here…"

The tears came, only a few at a time, and in the dustiest recesses of her brain, Mary knew that crying in front of Delia under ordinary circumstances would be cause for eternal humiliation. As it was, this didn't even register at first.

"Of course I'll take them, Mary, but…"

"He's…that's…"

Could she admit to it? Could she face the fact that-that man rooted to the spot just on the other side of the door really was…?

"That…he's…he's my-my…" Delia was patient while Mary very nearly fell to pieces, but also chastised herself not to go completely postal. "That's…that's my dad…"

The blow was crushing, as was the third look of distress that had presented itself that morning. Fortunately, Delia only allowed herself a moment's astonishment before getting down to business. Now that she knew her place and knew what was on the line, she too flew into US Marshal mode; it was a persona they could all adopt in heinous circumstances, and Mary was instantly grateful she had been along for the coffee run.

"They're in good hands," she declared forcefully, drawing herself up to her full height. "I'll get them out quick as you can blink; where are they?"

"I…I don't…" Mary was afraid she might hyperventilate; she was so lightheaded. "I don't know…they're probably not even dressed…"

What was she going to do once they saw him? They'd have to pass through the living room to leave.

"I'll get their clothes on and we'll be off," Delia was no-nonsense to a fault. "Are they in their room?"

"I…prob…probably…" Mary stammered. "I don't know for sure."

"You leave it to me."

With a rough slap on the back, Delia had let herself right back inside before Mary could tell her to stop, but she was a woman on a mission. The blonde wished she could say the same for herself. It was going to take all her strength to just to put one foot in front of the other. What she'd stumbled in on after coming back from a simple errand to Starbucks was replaying over and over in her mind, like her life was flashing before her eyes.

She didn't just see James planting himself in her adult home, a position where he was vastly out of place, but she saw him walking out the door of their duplex in New Jersey in that same white button-down shirt with the navy pinstripes. The two images would not equate. How could the same person who had run out on her and her mother and her sister be standing with her husband like nothing was wrong? Had he really expected to be welcomed back with open arms? If so, he'd certainly gotten his wish, though Mary had hardly reciprocated his touchy-feely show.

Mary had no idea how long she stayed outside, probably worrying Marshall to death, but she eventually managed to turn the knob and head back into the warmth, praying that she would see the kids emerge soon. Her greatest fear was them figuring out who the strange man in their home was, and she knew they were going to bombard her with questions no matter how fast Delia whisked them away. Lizzie would want to know why they were leaving, and Ben would pry and maybe even – dear God – put on some sort of spectacle for his grandfather.

His grandfather? Mary felt more ill by the second, especially once she saw that Marshall had joined James at his elbow, like he was ready to knock him down if the situation permitted it.

What in the world was she supposed to say? She didn't want to wait around for James to start stroking her ego again; the way he'd praised her looks and spoken so endearingly was tantalizing, but equally disgusting. Why did he have to be so damned perplexing? He always had been.

Marshall looked as though it was killing him not to speak, or else not to race across the room and console his wife. She just crossed her arms over her chest and tried her best to look stony, but she knew she could not be pulling it off very effectively.

Fortuitously, Delia was lightning fast in retrieving Ben and Lizzie. Within five minutes she was back; both kids were dressed and she was chattering excitedly at them, obviously hoping they would be too distracted to notice what was going on. While still in the hall, this worked beautifully.

"You brought hot chocolate?" Lizzie bleated enthusiastically. "With marshmallows too?"

"Oh, you betchya!" Delia was similarly animated. "We'll have to drink it soon though or it'll get cold!"

"I want mine first," Ben displayed his trademark miser qualities. "Can we drink it in the car?"

"Of course," Delia was agreeable to anything. "Let's shake a leg; I'm gonna have you all help me finish some Christmas shopping and then we can go to lunch, maybe to another movie…"

"We were supposed to clean our room," Lizzie piped up, earning her a hearty 'shh!' from Ben. "Won't daddy be mad?"

"Oh, daddy will be fine with you taking a break…"

Then they appeared, two thirds of the threesome unaware of the chaos radiating around them. Mary thought for one wild moment that they were actually going to disappear without noticing anything; Delia was doing a spectacular job guiding them and yakking at them so they didn't even need to look up. But, that perception was far too good to be true, and it was Lizzie whose eyes flashed upward.

"Daddy! Delia said we…"

Painfully shy, she recoiled the minute she saw the unknown among them. Closer to Delia than to her father, she nudged herself back a few inches to hide behind the lady inspector. This might've all worked out for the best if it weren't for Ben.

"Who are you?" he demanded boldly.

James ogled adoringly at the children; there was no denying the obvious glee on his face, but if he made one false move, if he so much as spoke or, heaven forbid tried to touch them, the lioness inside Mary would rear its head and he would be done for. It wouldn't even matter if the twins saw or not; keeping them safe was everything to her.

To her immense relief, James did not say anything. Marshall did, in an oddly constricted sort of voice.

"Go with Delia, spark," the man said softly. "Mom and I are just taking care of something."

The grandfather's quiet brushed the stillness, "I'll see you, sport."

Mary jumped so quickly she likely would've tripped and fallen over the rug if it weren't for Marshall holding up his hand to slow her. It wasn't a buffer that would last very long, but his omnipresent calmness was just enough for this moment – just enough to keep her from coming undone.

"Go on," Marshall reminded his son again. "Mom and I will call Delia later to see how you're doing."

Recognizing her cue, Delia led the children the rest of the way through the living room, pausing only briefly to grab their coats, which she didn't put on, insisting they could do that in the car.

"Bye mama…" Lizzie whispered with a sweet little wave.

Somehow, the woman found her voice, "Bye baby."

Choking back another wave of tears so painstakingly Mary thought she might suffocate before long, she was given a reprieve once her children finally departed. If nothing else, she could at least be certain they would be out of the fire once the fur started to fly. James seemed to take their absence as consent to converse, but it was nothing Mary wanted to hear, and least of all from him.

"You make good-looking kids, sweetheart…" an admiring wag of his head. "Are they twins?"

She could've killed him. She could've torn across the room, then and there, and just throttled him around the neck, but she knew that task was best left to Marshall – and in a much more refined way.

"You aren't here for some kind of cozy catch-up," the taller man accused. "And even if you were, no one's going to stick around to listen to it."

"No?" he paid Marshall no mind, and instead focused on Mary, who still had not spoken to him or moved any closer. "Well, that's all right. I knew the risk I was taking by coming here. At least I got to see my Mary," his eyes almost glittered in their immense blueness.

They looked exactly like Ben's.

"Go ahead…" he sighed cooperatively. "Make your calls."

Mary couldn't be so stupid as to fall for this. The man was a con for a reason. He snowed people for a living – that was how he'd been on the run from the FBI forever. So now he was just going to pack up a life a crime for two minutes with a mute daughter that very clearly couldn't wait for him to leave? On what planet would he do such a thing?

But, whether Mary or Marshall bought his claims was fairly irrelevant. They were the ones with the guns and the handcuffs. Wordlessly, Mary groped in Marshall's coat pocket and tossed him his silver loops. All these years she'd told herself that if James ever showed his lousy face she'd cuff him at hello, and here Marshall was going to do it for her. He didn't seem to mind.

And the rest of the exchange became white noise; Mary grew numb to all that was happening around her. It was likely a defense mechanism ingrained in her psyche; a person could only take so much, and after the disaster with Brandi, this had pushed her over the edge.

Marshall read him the Miranda and clicked the cuffs into place. James didn't even fight him.

He dialed his cell and told Stan who was waiting in their house and that he would be wise to bring backup. Again, James did not flinch.

While they waited, Marshall stood steadily in front of their prisoner, as upstanding and honorable as they came. James gave him no reason to guard.

And then came the noisy, rapping knock on the front door with Stan's voice bellowing, "US Marshals!" He brought with him one FBI agent and two detectives from the police department, guns drawn as they surrounded James, took in his appearance while Mary watched it all unfold through a hazy film. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on, how much longer she could be stoic and unwavering, presenting the façade that she was far from disheveled by her father's appearance.

Stan was in his element, being a full-on badass as he spit in James' face, seemingly not even noticing Mary. She liked it that way. His compassion would've just broken her down faster.

It wasn't until they finally frog-marched him to the door that everyone in the vicinity seemed to take in the daughter's spectator view from the sidelines. They paused with James' hands behind his back, for what reason Mary didn't know, but it gave him a chance to add a few last words.

"You have to know I wanted to come back so many times, Mary…" he was a liar; such a filthy rotten liar. "It was out of my hands…" and fibbing still further. "I never wanted it to get to the point where you'd have to do this to me…"

He did not speak about his predicament like it was Mary's fault, rather that he knew he had failed her and being responsible for his arrest wasn't something he'd calculated. From her place next to the couch, Mary just stared straight ahead, refusing to give him any satisfaction, refusing to allow even a flicker of emotion to pass through her features.

"You were such a blessing, Mary…" the fourth word sounded foreign coming out of his mouth. "The light of my life. They could lock me up for the rest of my days and I wouldn't regret coming back here to see you."

Her lip started trembling, and so she bit down hard, almost tasting blood, but she would not allow him to win.

"You always knew how to do the right thing…" funny he should mention that. "I could've learned from you, sweetheart. It just makes me love you even more."

Stan, who was nearby, must've sensed they were running out of time before Mary erupted, and he indicated that his fellows send the felon on his way.

"Let's go," he pointed toward the door. "Get this bastard in a cell."

Recognizing the seriousness of the chief's words, the crew dragged James onward, Stan struggling with himself before vanishing behind them, trying to decide if he should pass any words of wisdom on to Mary. He decided against it, knowing she would value him doing his job and taking care of the messiest parts more than a drawn out goodbye.

And, it was a good thing they left when they did. The door shut with an almighty slam and Mary lost it. A sniveling, breathless sob escaped as she pitched forward onto her knees, hanging her head; sure she was going to throw up her breakfast on the spot. It was horrible. It was beyond horrible having in the here and now. Why had she ever thought she would enjoy it?

Marshall bolted the entire length of the room like a marathon runner; it had undoubtedly been eating away at him that he couldn't soothe her during one of the most dreadful moments in her life.

"Mary…"

Somehow, she straightened once he appeared right in front of her, but she was shuddering all over, from her hands to her feet. Moisture dampened her cheeks, streamed around her nose and mouth, making it still harder to see and hear and process everything that had gone on.

One way or another though, she was glad to finally regain the ability to speak.

"Mary…" Marshall repeated, hands fluttering in her face, but she took off running now that it was just the two of them.

"_What is he doing here?"_ she gasped, still unsteady on her feet and wobbling on the hardwood. "Why is he here?! What does he want?!"

"Well, I don't know, I think…"

But, Mary didn't give him a chance to finish, "What about the kids?!"

"The kids are with…"

Again, he was not meant to respond, but to allow her to ramble, "Did the kids see him? The kids – did they see him? Did they talk to him? Did he…did he do anything…?"

"No…no, of course not," Marshall reassured her as fast as he could, running a hand up and down her arm, afraid she was going to topple to the ground. "The most he saw was when Delia took them out; that's it. They were already in their room when he came to the door."

But, Mary was in a full-on freak out; bawling so hard that her shirt was getting wet, that her nose was clogged and snot was dripping everywhere. The closest she'd been to such panic was when she'd gone into premature labor with the twins, and she really couldn't ascertain which was worse.

"What is he doing here?" she kept asking even though she didn't wait for Marshall to tell her. "Why would he come back now? He always spoils everything; I can't believe that he would do this…"

"I know," Marshall stated sympathetically, squeezing her shoulder. "I think that he came because Brandi…"

Mention of her sister changed Mary's demeanor at the drop of her hat. Gazing at her partner out of narrowed eyes, eyes that were bloodshot and leaking, a new kind of mistrust took over, and it was brutal.

"_Brandi?!"_ she hollered, sounding livid as well as despondent. "_Brandi_ brought him here?!"

Marshall wasn't about to tell her to calm down, because not only would it just upset her further, but it would be to no avail. She had every right to be ranting and raving and crying her eyes out; it was hard for him to see her as such, but knew it was crucial that he allow the poisonous ache she was feeling to run its course.

"I don't think she brought him here so much as…" Marshall hedged, wondering what the proper verbiage would be. "Gave him a map? You remember how Stan said he suspected there was a third person in negotiations with Brandi and Scott?"

He peered hard into her face, certain it was awful for her to see reason when she probably wanted terribly to be irrational. But, there was also a part of Marshall that wanted the whole rotten truth to make a little bit of sense. Right now, Mary was spiraling out of control because she couldn't fathom how or why her father would emerge out of the shadows after four decades away. Bringing Brandi into the fold at least helped to put the story together.

"It was _him_?" Mary's disbelief didn't abate one iota. "She ripped Peter's heart out and abandoned Holly and the rest of us, worried mom out of her mind – for _HIM?!"_

The way she was yelling frightened her husband, eyes popping in her tortured face, voice ripping and splintering even the highest of octaves.

"I don't know…" the man whispered, refusing to let go of her shoulder. "But, it looks that way."

The anger vanished almost as quickly as it had come on, to be replaced by revulsion once more.

"Marshall, I'm gonna be sick…" a hefty gulp worked its way through. "I'm gonna be sick…"

She was indeed holding her stomach rather awkwardly, crunching as though it was hurting her, but Marshall didn't entirely believe hurling was going to be the end result. He was more concerned about the tears still rolling down her cheeks and the way she couldn't manage to get a grip on herself, though he hardly blamed her for behaving erratically.

"Tell me what you want to do," he requested gently, gripping her bones still harder. "Do you want to stay here and wait for a call from Stan? Would you rather catch up with Delia and the kids?" he didn't imagine she would choose that, not when she was in such a frenzy. "You and I can go out by ourselves – or we can go down to the police station and see what's going on…"

It was important to give Mary options so she wouldn't have to think of them herself, and even though he presented all the choices he'd prefer at the onset, he also knew which one she was likely to tack onto. Mary was a woman of action; she'd rather die than sit on her ass when she could be in the thick of the fray.

"We're going."

She was forceful even through the rivulets trickling down her face.

"We're going. Let's go…"

But, Marshall couldn't help noticing that she made no move to leave. She stayed where she was, and each time she repeated herself, more wetness dribbled in its ponds to the point where she was submerged in her own tears – a colossal, misshapen mess.

"Let's go…we-we need…we need to go…"

They would in time, but Marshall could watch her destruct no longer. With her voice still beating its rhythm, he bestowed her a swift hug where the sobs became muffled but no less distraught once they were buried inside his chest. There was nothing he could say or do; he could only hold her and tickle his hand up and down her back, leaving a kiss on her hair for good measure. There was nothing he hated more than hearing Mary cry, but it was unavoidable in this instance. It was too much too soon, too fast, too hard, and too horrendous to expect her to stay strong.

"I did miss him…" a waterlogged confession finally eked out, lips pressed to the buttons of Marshall's top.

"I know," it was his favorite saying when things were so manic.

With the more shameful admission came a more forthright one as well, "But, I'd never leave the kids for him."

And Marshall didn't need to be reassured in such a department.

"I know that too."

XXX

**A/N: I have a hard time not writing James the way he was on the show because honestly, how he was on the show was how I always pictured him! I always thought he would flatter and dote on Mary, whether it means anything to her or not.**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Thanks for the love on the last chapter! Many hugs!**

XXX

From Marshall's perspective, the entire journey to the police station was a blur. His focus was divided in so many different directions, and it was hard to know where to pin it first – where his attention would best be served to aide Mary. Once they finally made it out of the house, the tears of disillusionment and stupefaction turned to those of animosity and belligerence. Before they were through three stoplights, the wetness vanished all together, and the bubbling, boiling, acidic Mary that Marshall had been so familiar with during the rockier years of their partnership frothed to the surface. While she had certainly seethed at the house, it had been marred by anguish. Now, Marshall knew, she was gearing up to behave detached as well as indignant. James deserved nothing better; she'd been mad at him her entire life and her temper was towering more by the minute.

Marshall had to admit that he was rather unsure of himself by the time he and his wife found themselves redirected from the police department to the county jail, as James was considered too big a liability to leave handcuffed to some plastic chair. Mary was ready to explode once they turned up in the basement, of all places, which ended up being a bleak and desolate place, guards standing sentry every few feet or so.

The walls were cinderblock and lined with solid doors on the right side, no windows to peer into the confines of the room. Marshall couldn't see how this blueprint was very beneficial, but he imagined there were other ways of entering the rooms besides the cellar doors. Nothing else occupied the space; the lighting was so fluorescent it was almost green. The hue made Mary's cheeks look gaunt, her face stark white where her tears had dried.

Still, the woman was nothing if not determined, and she barreled right up to the sentinel outside door number four, fingers twitching toward the badge on her belt. Marshall knew it would be unnecessary to flash it around, as no one who was unauthorized could penetrate the depths of this prison, but she liked to have it just in case. It made her feel strong and independent, like she held a power that others did not.

"Inspector Shannon," Mary announced herself to the guard in a clear, bold sort of voice that hid her insecurity quite well. "I'm here to see James Wily Shannon."

The man in the uniform visibly raised his eyebrows at the matching surnames, but had the good sense not to remark upon the connection out loud.

Professional to a fault, he extended a hand toward the hatch in front of him, "This way, ma'am."

They didn't have far to go, and Mary was itching from her fingertips to her feet to be granted admittance. However, Marshall wasn't going to let her get away quite so easily, and as security personnel fitted his key in the lock, he seized her arm in the only opportunity he had left.

The motion and grip of his fingers made Mary start, whipping around to face him – her features frigid and oppressive.

"What?"

Though the man knew what her response was going to be before he even opened his mouth, he still sought to offer the solace of his presence.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" they'd already had this discussion in the car, and Mary had not warmed to the idea. "Just for moral…"

"What? Support?" the woman all-but scoffed. "What kind of support do you suppose you can give that's going to erase who I'm going to see and what sort of shit he's going to feed me?"

Marshall wanted to ask why she even wanted to visit him if she thought he was going to be full of nothing but fibs, but had the good sense to keep quiet.

"You stay here," Mary ordered without hanging around for her husband to give a proper answer. "Nobody needs to see this."

In some ways, she was probably right, because Marshall despised seeing Mary dealing with any sort of hardship, and this meeting was likely to be first on that list. Nonetheless, what sort of husband sat twiddling his thumbs in the hall while his wife did all the grunt work? Though he had far less at stake and even lesser invested, Marshall wouldn't say no to giving James a piece of his mind as well.

Now wasn't the time to do so, however, and he gave a resigned nod in Mary's direction to show that he was going to respect her wishes.

"Ma'am?" the guard broke over their conversation, his key now dangling from the hole. "You ready?"

Ready or not, there was no turning back now, and Mary wouldn't even if she'd thought of it. Her mind was buzzing so loudly and feverishly it might very well be infested with bees. The catalog of items she wanted to throw at James was everlasting, but the ironic part was that none of them included questioning him about why he'd left forty years ago. Her brain was centered on the here and now. Had she been more aware, she would've recognized the likelihood that her already overflowing consciousness could only handle the least excruciating aspects at the moment.

And so Mary said, "Yeah…" in a reaction to the lookout's invitation. "Let's go," without further ado, she stalked right inside without giving Marshall a second glance, knowing how probable it was she would run home if she did.

Right away, as soon as the door thunked shut behind her with a few words from the guard to simply knock on the wall if she needed anything, Mary noticed that this visit wasn't going to consist of just the two of them. There was an enormous two-way-mirror mounted to the wall opposite, and she didn't want to think about who sat behind it.

James had to know that he was under surveillance too, but you would never know it by the look on his face. Sitting at a bolted metal table and unable to move about in his cemented chair due to being cuffed to the armrest, he smiled broadly at the sight of his daughter. You would think they were meeting for a picnic or had plans to discuss the weather. Where did he get off acting so laid-back and informal? He'd just been captured – by Mary, no less – for only the second time since 1978. Shouldn't he be worried or even pissed?

It was painfully evident that he was neither of those things. In fact, judging by the look in his bright blue eyes, he was operating on the opposite end of the spectrum.

"Couldn't stay away from your old man, huh?" James offered a poor joke even though it couldn't have been more obvious that Mary had not arrived so they could swap stories. "I admit I wasn't sure whether we'd ever get a chance to talk, especially after the way I had to make my exit…" referring to the arrest at the house. "I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to lay eyes on me, sweetheart, but this proves you're open to second chances…"

"Not for you," Mary spat from her post by the door, feeling no yearning to sit down and establish any rapport or indicate she was staying. "I came because I want to know what the hell you did with Brandi. That's it."

It was a feeble, extremely meager excuse. Although not entirely untrue, Mary didn't really believe James had her sister locked up somewhere. But, saying it was her reason for showing up meant she could operate under the very last of assumptions that only _one_ person in her life had betrayed her – be it James or Brandi. It was too hard to accept that they'd teamed up, that Brandi had complied in the whole muddled affair.

"I never hurt your sister," the man declared, as though it were apparent. "She came to me. Or rather, Scott did. I thought helping her out was the least I could do after running out on you girls; she'd never asked for anything before now."

If he was living on a planet where he thought one act of kindness – probably illegal kindness – led to forgiveness after forty years of abandonment, he was sadly mistaken at least on Mary's end.

"Help her with what?" the inspector goaded, still unable to come to terms with the fact that she was having this conversation at all; so much time had passed and she'd never envisioned talking to her father this way if and when he ever darkened her doorstep. Even so, she continued, "What's she need you for? She has me."

Mary did not know what made her stake her claim to such a thing. She was likely to kill Brandi if she followed up James' appearance with one of her own. But, nonetheless, her ego was bruised knowing her little sister had gone to the felon who had abandoned her instead of Mary who had taken care of her for countless years, still going strong. It was important to project the image that she and Brandi were not on the outs; James couldn't think for a minute he could pit them against one another.

"Why don't you come take a seat?" he waved the hand that was not restrained toward the chair across from him. "We can talk about what's going on with Brandi. I have nothing to hide."

Mary jeered and sneered simultaneously, "What a load. You've been hiding since I was seven."

James seemed to realize his mistake, though he was far from ashamed, and just shook his head with that annoying, yet appealing half-smirk on his face.

"You always were a clever one, sweetheart," raising a pointed finger. "I meant I have nothing to hide as far as Brandi is concerned. I'm happy to tell you anything you want to know. Just join me over here."

Doing what he said would be giving him the upper hand, even if it was something as insignificant as sitting down. By the door, Mary was distant and intolerant; you couldn't think by reading her features that she was in any mood to listen to reason. If she went any closer, it might give James the notion that he could talk her into something – that he could sway her.

"You mean you don't think I can hear you across the room?" Mary batted back. "Tell me your sob stories from where you are."

"Naw, come on…" James coaxed. "I won't bite you. You don't have to let your guard down, if that's what you're afraid of. It's been a long time, Mary. I just want to see you."

She longed to throw an entire barrage of insults at him; starting with the fact that if he'd 'wanted' to see her, he would've come back ages ago – hell, he wouldn't have left in the first place. How could he expect her to believe his supposed sentiment? He wasn't Mike Brady or some warm-and-fuzzy dad from television; the idea that he thought he could get away with pretending was nauseating.

"You didn't have any problem _not_ seeing me for forty years until now," Mary accused. "Why the sudden hankering?"

James held up his hands, palms out, "I'm here, aren't I? And so are you."

Like it or not, Mary knew as well as he did that she'd waited an awfully long time to talk to him – be it ripping him a new one or giving him a chance to express himself – and there was no sense wasting the opportunity now that she'd accepted it. Slowly, she dragged her feet across the dirty linoleum and dropped into the vacant chair, still displaying her most steely glare. Internally, she was irritated that she had to make an effort to appear disgruntled. While she was definitely incensed and didn't need to fake that, her burning curiosity to know what James knew meant she had to work much harder to show him she was gnashing her teeth.

"Start talking," she barked, crossing both her legs and arms, defensive from top to bottom. "From the beginning."

James folded his hands over the table, leaning his chin on top of his crossed knuckles, peering Mary straight in her swirling, fierce green eyes. She made it a contest with herself; she would not blink first, no matter how long it took. Having something to fixate on besides the rapidly unfolding disaster was the only way she was going to get through.

For a split second before her father began speaking, Mary was struck with the impression that he might not tell her the truth about Brandi – and she might not even know it. He was a suave, exponentially devious and shifty con-artist. Lying and lying well was his profession.

"To be honest, I'm not sure when the 'beginning' really started…" Mary thought it was ironic that he used the word 'honest' at all, but didn't tell him so. "Brandi came into the picture about a year after I tracked down Scottie."

An uncomfortable lurch erupted inside of Mary's stomach, but she held firm on not showing the ache it caused. So, Scott had been talking to James for a year now, had he? They were probably old chums by now, healing whatever wounds that had been caused by James' abandonment of his second family. Almost immediately after feeling the list of her insides, the woman punished herself for being put-out about their contact. What did she care? Her father was in her company right now and she was not happy, but horrified.

Scott could have him. And so could Brandi, were she so inclined.

"I was looking to get in touch with Scott again, because I was finally in a place where I thought it would be safe – I wanted to see how he and Lauren were doing…"

"Just not me and Brandi," Mary interjected hastily. "Or Jinx."

"It was a situation of 'one thing at a time,'" James protected his motives. "I couldn't be walking around out in the open, even though I've been clean for about five years. That doesn't mean anything to the police; the damage has been done…"

"What does that mean?" his daughter cut in once more. "Clean. Clean from what? Sober from what? Gambling? Or robbing banks?"

"Both, actually," a flicker of pretentious pride flashed through the man's face, lightening his cobalt orbs to an even more stunning shade of blue. "Holding up banks is in my past – and forget gambling. I was worried about Scottie though, because he always had trouble with money…"

"Hmm…" Mary was purposely bitter. "Wonder where he got that?"

James ignored the josh, "I found Scott living in Miami since I knew that was where his mother had settled last, and I convinced him that we could start fresh – that I was done with the high life and ready to make something of myself."

"Scott's an idiot if he bought that," she spat harshly. "And make something of yourself? Did you think you could just get work as a waiter or a car salesman in the suburbs somewhere? Give me a break…"

"People are less perceptive than you think," nobody had to tell Mary that. "All I had to do was find the right area, and with help from Scott I could be back on track. He was almost grown when I left the first time, and we'd had a lot of happy years together…"

"Spare me the sap," the blonde had no patience for excess, unimportant details. "Where does Brandi come in?"

James cleared his throat and nodded, "Scottie and I set up shop down in Florida and got a small business up and running within a few months," Mary did not ask what kind of business, because she didn't give a damn. "I guess that was around February or March. Things were going fine, and then Brandi called up Scott in October asking for money."

Mary was almost disappointed that the tale seemed to be matching up so far. You could take the nonsense about James and Scott hooking up with a grain of salt, but that didn't affect Mary, other than the fact that she couldn't believe her half-brother hadn't confided in either of his sisters that his father had returned. If he hadn't told Mary, it would be one thing, but to not tell Brandi? They were supposed to be friends.

It didn't entirely matter at this point anyway. Brandi had obviously exonerated herself of any animosity she might feel toward Scott in favor of producing the cash that needed to be replaced at the Autoplex.

"Your sister didn't know anything about me," James swore. "From what I understand, she went to Scott for whatever funds she needed because she'd lent him some money once, and she was hoping he could return the favor."

In actuality, it was Peter who had provided the money for Scott back in the day so that he could pay back his gambling debts. Vaguely, Mary wondered if Brandi had ever told the man as much – that _she_ wasn't rich and never would've been if not for Peter. Knowing Brandi, she'd probably taken all the credit for helping him feed his addiction.

"Well, our business had definitely taken off, but Scottie didn't have the kind of money Brandi was looking for – not to spare," James explained further. "I had some cash put away, so I offered to help out, but Scott wasn't sure it was such a good idea to let Brandi know who he was working with."

"Can't imagine why that would be," Mary quipped.

Maybe because Scott had always enjoyed mooching off of Brandi, not to mention Mary during the short time he'd lived in her house. He probably thought that if he revealed his 'business partner' that Brandi would be angry that he'd kept their father stashed away without sharing.

"Eventually, I convinced Scott to let me do something – after all I put you girls through when you were little, I couldn't turn down the opportunity to loan Brandi whatever she needed."

"Did she ever tell you what the money was for?" Mary wanted to know, not sure why she cared, but curious if her sister had been truthful about her intentions.

"Her husband – the car dealer – he'd had some sort of snafu with an employee and lost a big chunk of his earnings, right?" the father wanted clarified.

Giving a terse nod, Mary blinked slowly, bracing herself for the rest, and waited for James to press on.

"Well, Brandi was shocked something awful once I stepped into the picture…"

"I know how that feels," the woman muttered under her breath.

"But, she was real responsive – you taught her well, Mary," again, he took an entirely unlawful circumstance and turned it around so he could compliment his eldest daughter. "She was willing to do whatever she had to in order to help her man; that's something I admire…"

"Including associating herself with a riffraff gambler and his great example of a father," Mary would not let him get away with acting like he and Scott were stand-up citizens and that Brandi had been smart to go to them; it was the stupidest thing the woman had ever heard.

Once again, James pretended he had not heard the insult in the least. Mary supposed he was trying to make her feel justified or even that he had no argument for her claims, thus allowing her to come out on top. Instead, it was just making her more and more livid by the second. She wanted him to contradict her, to become enraged just so she could argue with him. She was spoiling for a good, nasty fight.

"Anyway, I told Brandi I had some money she could use to get Peter's company back on its feet – we'd just have to be careful about taking out too much at once; it was important I didn't attract attention by strolling into a bank…"

"Where did you get the money?" Mary demanded, glowering at her father out of slitted eyes. "Where did it come from? How long had you had it – and why weren't you using it if you were so desperate to start a new life?" she fired off issues at warp speed. "Surely some extra funding would've been helpful to you and Scott with this half-assed business you're telling me about."

"Sharp as a tack, you are," James grinned fondly, and Mary was struck by the need to throw up again. "Nothing gets by my little girl."

"Don't call me that," she appealed snidely, because she knew if he kept doting that she would weaken against her will. "And answer the questions."

Fortunately, he obliged, "I'm done lying to you Mary. The money came from my more illicit younger days…"

"Yeah, a whole five years before that you stopped robbing banks. Hell, you were practically an infant before you put away your gun."

"I don't remember whether the cash I handed over to Brandi was from a holdup or if I'd won it in a card game – it got hard to keep track after awhile," oddly, Mary did believe him when it came to this; when you engaged in so many prohibited activities, it probably was difficult to keep them straight. "But, the point is that I couldn't just withdraw the money like any regular Joe on the sidewalk. I've got several bank accounts; all under different names…the trick was finding out which one was least likely to sound the alarm with the feds."

Absently, Mary wondered why James was just spewing atrocity after atrocity when he had to know there were experts on the other side of the mirror who were just dying for a confession out of one of America's Most Wanted. Did he really not care? Had he decided his time was up and was ready to accept his fate? He had to be getting on in years; maybe his last grand act had been helping Brandi, if that was what you wanted to call it. Either way, Mary felt thrown that he wasn't watching his words at all.

"So, when was this?" she felt she needed to say something in order to initiate the flow of the discussion some more. "When did you, Scott, and Brandi hunker down and try to extract the money?"

The fact that her little sister had gone along with this outlandish plan, that she had given her thumbs up for taking cash she had to have known was stolen, was too much to bear. It was becoming more and more clear that Brandi's actions in this miniature con job were legitimate; she'd known exactly what she was doing and the price she would pay if she were caught.

"Well, it actually took a little bit of time for Brandi to get on board…" this was of no solace to Mary. "Scottie and I spent most of October getting her head in the game – assuring her she'd be better off to trust that I'd come through for her."

"Yes…" the daughter gave a tight-lipped response. "How could Brandi possibly think you might not make good on your word? She has ever-so-much experience with you coming to her rescue," the sarcasm was dripping from each and every letter.

"At first, she didn't know I'd acquired the money in a less-than-legal way…" that didn't matter, because Mary knew what was coming next. "Eventually, Scott and I broke it to her, and she was pretty pissed, but she wanted to do her best for Peter, and she must've figured he didn't need to know _how_ she replaced the money, just that she'd replaced it."

Then Brandi was even more idiotic than the older sister had calculated. Peter was no dummy. He would not just accept a huge wad of cash without questioning where it had come from. There had to be more to this story. Surely it hadn't taken two months between October and December for Brandi to come around; when she saw a way out of trouble, she usually took it, even if it did include their deadbeat father.

"Brandi said she could only hook up with me and Scott sporadically – I guess her husband wasn't too wild about her seeing Scottie at all, and so she was cautious…" James explained when Mary had nothing to say to his last pronouncement. "We talked on the phone for awhile when Brandi could get away to take a call, and Scott and I tried to devise a plan to get her what she needed as fast as possible. That wasn't going to happen with her in New Mexico and us in Florida, so we started making our way west."

That took care of some of the gap. Brandi wouldn't have been able to do anything without her father and brother in person, and so she'd stolen away for phone calls here and there when they'd been on the move. Mary suddenly recalled one of the first days Holly had been in the hospital and the younger's cell had started buzzing; she'd claimed it was 'nobody' and hadn't answered. Well, here was 'nobody' right in front of her.

"I gather it was rough on your sister, and I felt badly about that…" James turned remorseful rather abruptly, and it was like seeing a different man; a softer, gentler one that Mary knew she could not be fooled by. "She was pretty stressed about what would happen if there was a snag, but I know my way around the system – I was confident I could make the transaction without a lot of fuss."

"You say that like it's a good thing," the blonde was getting antsy in her chair now, dying to stand up, dying to rail on him because he thought the way he avoided the law was something to be proud of. "You ran Brandi ragged and never once suggested she get out for her own safety?"

"She was never in danger," he persisted. "But, like I say, it made her pretty nervous."

It was Marshall who had noticed that Brandi had lost weight, and no one had been able to ignore the way she'd seemed to fight with Peter over the most trivial things – the way she would go off like a bomb at the slightest anomaly. It was all starting to fall into place; she'd been touchy because she'd been hiding this enormous secret. Mary had always suspected she was concealing _something_, but she'd never expected it to be this.

"Scott and I got things all set up," he prattled on. "In some ways, it was actually good that it took a little bit of time to iron out, because it gave Brandi and me a chance to get to know each other – just over the phone."

"Get to know each other," Mary repeated hoarsely, suddenly feeling rather lightheaded. "Get to know each other how?"

"I never knew your sister like I knew you, sweetheart…"

You didn't know me at all! Mary longed to shout. You still don't know me! You don't know anything about me! Stop acting like you do!

"There was a lot I wanted to learn about her," he didn't pick up on the muscles in Mary's face tautening. "Over time, she let me in a little bit; she saw I wasn't such a bad guy after all…"

At this, Mary could not hold herself back. She flung herself from her chair, hands splayed on the cold metal table between them, breathing hard and doing everything she could not to literally spit in his face. His eyes were rigid now, like pure sapphires, focused so intently on hers, which were whirling like a vortex – a virtual eddy of rage and resentment.

"Not such a bad guy after all?!" she exploded, her voice echoing thanks to the four-by-four cell of cinderblock. "You lured her away from her husband and her daughter just to provide her with money you'd _stolen! _Money that didn't belong to you! Money you got gambling your ass off for years when you should've been at home being a father! You think that's showing Brandi you're a 'good guy?!'" for a moment, Mary thought she saw a flash behind the mirror, but knew it was impossible. "You're a criminal! You've always been a criminal and you knew you were turning Brandi into one too if you dragged her along for the ride!"

Mary's heart was pounding unnaturally fast by the time she finished bellowing at James. Strangely, it did not make her feel better, mostly because it sounded like she was trying to give Brandi a pass, trying to saddle her father with all the credit for leading the woman astray. In reality, the reasons she'd berated him were not the reasons she was really mad.

"I'm not saying it was all innocent…" James was not even ruffled by the outburst, even as he watched Mary slump back down in her chair, having to keep herself from smacking him across his face. "But, I was doing it for the right reasons this time," if that was what he wanted to tell himself. "And, Brandi was ready – she came to trust me."

"Good for her," the woman stated maliciously. "Get on with it. I don't have all day. Finish up."

She craved being rid of him. He was suffocating her, confusing her with the way he could be so pleasant and so vexing at the same time. Getting sucked into his world, where robbing banks could serve some kind of noble purpose, was not an aspiration of the older daughter. She wanted to get the rest of the story and leave.

"By the time I was prepared to withdraw the money, I knew it had to be somewhere off the beaten path…"

Cimarron, Mary thought.

"…And in small doses; taking a hefty amount all at once was just asking for trouble…"

Because they weren't deep in that already.

"Last week, I started gathering the funds, pulling from a few different accounts – using library computers or borrowed laptops so it would be harder to trace…" he really was a professional. "Scottie and I met up with Brandi every time and gave her the dough she needed – but it was on the outskirts of Albuquerque, and sometimes it took awhile for her to get to us…"

So, this was where Brandi had been when she was not at the hospital. She was exchanging pilfered funds with her immoral father and lousy brother while her sweet, innocent little girl fought for her life. In what universe could she think that Peter's gratitude for a big chunk of change would outweigh the hurt he and Holly felt in her absence?

"Things started getting a little messy, and I was worried it wasn't a good idea to operate in Albuquerque anymore, so the three of us packed up and headed to Cimarron late Monday night – less chance of being spotted…"

"Who crashed the car?" Mary wanted to know, but her voice was flat and drab; it held none of the fire she'd used in her previous admonishing.

"The car?"

"The rental car," she clarified. "The company tracked it into a ditch outside Cimarron – it was totaled. Did one of you wreck it, or what?"

"After we got to the city, Scottie loaned it to a guy who had helped us get into a motel without a lot of poking around," James took care of this too. "He wasn't the brightest, but he did get us in undetected, and so Scott figured we owed him."

"Why didn't you just spare some of your precious money?"

"He wanted the car," the man shot that theory down. "He said he'd return it, but I guess that became a no-go if he botched it."

Mary swallowed, knowing they were nearly at the close, "And so…you came back here, risked the whole operation…why?"

"Because I got Brandi near enough funds to pay back what was lost at the car dealership, and then she bolted," now he sounded as naïve as he was ever going to, as if he were as lost in this as Mary was. "Maybe she got cold feet or she was missing her girl or something – it's nothing to me, I just wanted to make sure she was okay, make sure she didn't need the rest of the money."

"And you'd blow your cover…?" the inspector was nonplussed; he was so crafty and skillful, and he'd thrown it all away to track down his younger daughter. "For her?"

"It's time I grew up, Mary," he claimed, faux-virtue written all over his expertly-carved face. "If I get locked up for helping you girls, then it's worth it. Frankly, it was you – always you – that I was hoping to see all along."

He said this with a note of finality, like they had wrapped things up – all loose ends, all holes; it was devoid of any lapses. As far as James was concerned, the whole sordid chaos made sense now; he'd been the henchman, nothing more and nothing less. Mary felt drained just from taking everything in, and even more bedraggled by the notion that it came together so smoothly. From what she'd learned from Stan's reports, this version of events slid into place.

Brandi had contacted Scott to restore the money that had been embezzled from the Autoplex. Scott didn't have enough, so he'd enlisted James. Over the course of two months, they'd mapped out an arrangement of how to withdraw the money – stolen or betted money – without drawing attention to themselves. The men had taken a cross-country trip from Florida to New Mexico where they'd pulled Brandi from her family; she'd willingly gone along, overseeing every transfer while Holly had been riddled with injury and illness. When things had gotten dicey, they'd traveled to Cimarron, dumped their rented car, prepared to close the deal, only to have Brandi turn tail and run, causing James to resurface on Mary's doorstep – forty years later, still causing her all kinds of grief.

With a sigh, Mary leaned back in her chair and surveyed the damage. Even from all angles, it was every bit the nightmare she'd thought it was going to be.

XXX

**A/N: I worry this is a little too much like what happened on the show when Mary had to interrogate James, but I always envisioned it this way anyway, so let's hope I'm not too much of a copycat!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: I hope everything with Brandi added up from earlier in the story! **

XXX

Time and space seemed to evaporate into thin air the longer Mary stayed in the chamber to which James was confined. Despite getting all the imperative portions of him and Brandi's convoluted journey together, the man just kept talking, as if Mary had nothing better to do than to listen to every waking detail of his existence for the past two months.

The more she heard, the sicker she felt. From her perspective, it sounded like Brandi had been swindled in the worst possible way. What had started out as nerve-wracking ended up being some diamond in the rough. Judging by the way James waxed poetic, Mary's sister had become fond of the man who had left them all in limbo when she was barely a year old, and that her tantrums on Peter and the rest of the family likely came from guilt more than secrecy. Mary would've loved to have been proved wrong on this front, to have one last shred of decency to cling to, but she knew Brandi. Brandi craved approval and attention, and James had likely given her both – two things he'd never granted her when she was a child.

After what felt like hours in the dingy, badly-lighted cell, James finally diverted from all-things-money and decided to prod Mary for information about herself. Tired and miserable, she was not keen to feed him anything, but there was no indication that he took the hint.

"Now sweetheart, I've gotten to hear all about your sister over the last couple of months…" they'd already covered that. "But, she wouldn't tell me anything about you even though I begged her to. All I really knew was that you were a Marshal, because Brandi said that's why we needed to keep things on the down-low…"

"It's how I was able to arrest your ass," she was slouched in her chair now, feeling heavy just from trying to hold herself up. "You'd have figured that out real quick, with or without Brandi."

"Is your husband a Marshal too?" he wanted to know, blue eyes twinkling in that captivating way they seemed to do. "He seems like a real stand-up guy; I could tell by how worried he was about you when I showed up…"

"We are not going to talk about my husband," Mary informed him tightly, clamping her arms across her middle as though to ward him away. "He's none of your business."

Mary had never envisioned a world where James knew about Marshall. James, in her subconscious, was perpetually stuck in his early thirties, his hair auburn and wavy, not the mass of stiff silver that grew on his head now. He had become very few things to Mary as time had elapsed and he distanced himself from her more and more. He was not a father who would walk her down the aisle at her wedding – a father who would moon over his grandchildren, who would come to fix a running toilet or stay with a sick Ben and Lizzie. He had no job where she could visit him at work and be patted on the head and donned, 'James' daughter.' She'd never been able to cry in his arms, to share her highs and lows, or even to commiserate when she'd been scared out of her mind.

He was just 'out there.' Neither real nor imagined, like a haze of smoke on the horizon, he had eclipsed 'man' and ventured into an outlaw in fables of yore. It was getting harder and harder to see him as a reality, and when he brought Marshall into the equation, it was like trying to merge legend with authenticity. The two did not go together.

"I'm just happy you settled down and found someone," James declared while Mary thought about all this. "You deserve nothing but the best, Mary. And that Marshall is a catch."

She gave a derisive snort, but said nothing. She would not tell him anything about her life if she could help it. He could live in the dark forever as far as she was concerned. It was how she'd lived for the past four decades.

"And you have kids too…" if she wasn't going to talk, he was going to pick up the thread. "Beautiful little babies," while he'd only had a glimpse, it was clear they were imprinted in his mind. "Two at once?" he gave a low whistle even though Mary had never confirmed that Ben and Lizzie were twins. "That's more than I could handle. I barely managed two six years apart…"

"Why don't you tell me how you define 'manage'?" Mary failed in fighting her curiosity. "Because, near as I can tell, you were never able to 'handle' changing diapers, let alone the big things like, you know, coming home at the end of the day and still being there in the morning."

By the way James hung his head; he had to have known this was coming. They'd spent the better part of their meeting hashing it out over Brandi. Now that she was out of the way, the true nitty-gritty could be brought to light, although Mary wasn't sure she had the stamina to remain infuriated for much longer. Brandi's transgressions had really taken it out of her.

"You know that Jinx and I were never meant to be married, sweetheart…"

"Is this an excuse?" Mary snapped, mention of Jinx reminding her that her mother would probably be on her way down soon, as her and Marshall had informed her of the events in the car on their way over. "You're going to tell me that if you couldn't have a wife, you couldn't have daughters either?"

"It was better for you and Brandi that I didn't stick around…"

"Put a lid on it, why don't you?" she sat up in her chair again, facing him dead on. "There's this handy-dandy thing called a 'divorce' when you don't want to be married anymore; it's what _humans_ use when a marriage doesn't work out."

"Jinx never would've agreed," James decided with a slow shake of his head. "I would've had to fight her every step of the way, and you girls would've gotten caught in the crossfire. I was trying to protect you…"

"_Protect me?!_" Mary guffawed, her eyes bugging dramatically. "You left me with an alcoholic mother and an infant! I was seven years old!"

"I thought you were six…"

"I was _seven!_" Mary sprung out of her seat for a second time and slammed her fist on the table, making her knuckles throb painfully, but she ignored the pulsating. The specifics were essential; how could he have forgotten such an immense part of that time in their history? "I turned seven two days after you left for good! You missed my seventh birthday – and every birthday after that!"

"It was irresponsible of me, Mary, I do admit. But, you were a strong little girl; I knew your mother and your sister would be okay…"

"Even if they were, what about me?!" she was hungry to know what on earth he'd been thinking, even though deep down she knew it didn't make a difference anymore. "You never thought I'd get – oh, I don't know – burned out trying to take care of an adult and a baby while going to first grade at the same time?" her sarcasm was turning hysterical, and her cheeks began to burn.

"You did well for yourself, sweetheart; you have nothing to be ashamed of…"

"The hell I don't!" Mary was over-the-top now, snarling into James' face, restraining herself at every second from grabbing him by his collar and choking him to death. "Do you have any idea what happened while you were off evading the police?! We were evicted from the duplex! I got married to some guy I barely knew – and I was engaged to another one I didn't love! Brandi started snorting crystal meth and tried to traffic a drug deal and thanks to her I got my ass cuffed in a sinkhole where some lowlife tried to rape me before he put a bullet in my head!"

She didn't even care if the professionals behind the window could hear her, because if it got Brandi in hot water it was just icing on the cake. She was as mad at her sister as she was at her father, and to her grim satisfaction, she seemed to have at least shocked him to the point where he quit trying to relieve himself of any culpability he might have.

"All because you couldn't be bothered with a divorce – because you decided kids weren't for you!"

When Mary reflected on how she'd die for Ben and Lizzie and how James' children had nearly died _because_ of him, she flared up even further. Her cheeks were on fire, mingling with furious tears she hadn't even known she'd shed. Nothing could stop her now; she'd broken through the barrier, released the demons, the devils that had haunted her since she was a little girl.

"If you think you can get away with telling me you left us because you were lazy, you are _sadly_ mistaken!" if there had been anything around to throw, she would've seized the nearest object and hurled it at his head, but all the furniture was bolted to the floor. "You left because you were an addict who was too selfish to get help – because you'd rather take other people's hard-earned money than make any of your own!"

James found a comeback – a frail one that just spiked Mary's blood pressure even higher to the point where she felt as she had when she'd been pregnant with the twins. It was dizzying and disorienting, where her fear and trepidation became the only thing she saw.

"You don't think kids are hard work, Mary…?"

"I _know_ kids are hard work!" she roared sadistically. "I've got two of my own!"

"And I want to hear about them – tell me about them…"

This was the last straw. To fuel her biting desire to heave something at James and knock him out, Mary swung her foot into the table so hard at made a deafening clang, which reverberated around their tiny space. Her father jumped and shut his mouth, obviously knowing he was dealing with someone who could very feasibly throttle him if the situation presented itself.

"We are _not_ going to talk about my kids!" no negotiations. "I hope you got a good look earlier, because you're _never_ going to see them again! I hope you go to hell after you rot away in prison, and if you ever show up at my house again, I'm not wasting time with the cuffs – I'll blast you off your ass before you're over the threshold!"

Giving her chair a good whack with her boot as well, Mary turned and stomped to the door, rapping hard so the guard would let her out. She never looked back; she didn't wait even a second for James to try to explain himself to her again. She was going to vomit if she didn't get out – or pass out, or die. Never in her life had she been so angry, so susceptible to causing real harm that she knew she would regret, no matter how the old man might have earned it.

In the only stroke of good fortune all day, the sentinel outside was quick in releasing her. The minute Mary heard the lock click; she shoved her way through the deadbolts and practically flew into the hall, nearly knocking the unsuspecting gentleman on the other side to the ground.

Her ears seemed to be ringing by the time she got a grip on herself, though she knew she still had tears running down her face. Only the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, creating a single noise in the path to the dungeons. Mary could hear her voice resounding inside her head, but focused on swiping her eyes so the guard would not think she was some pansy.

Several minutes after she got it together enough to steady her legs and walk out, Mary suddenly realized that Marshall was nowhere in sight. She'd left him right outside the door, but he was gone. She glanced around foolishly, though there was nowhere for him to hide. The man who had granted her admittance seemed to guess her dilemma and cleared his throat before speaking.

"Your husband told me to tell you that he went upstairs to wait," his voice was very distinct and exact, like he was reading from a script. "And that you should go on up when you were ready."

"Okay…" Mary murmured groggily, nodding her head. "Thank-you."

Not wanting to give the guard any more chances to view her vulnerable side, Mary left him where he was, and started back toward the stairs. The trip felt like it might be a long one – like she might never reach Marshall or get to tell him all that she had learned. Just before she reached the bottom step, the same voice from two minutes before called out again.

"Hey!"

Whipping around, Mary saw that it was the sentry who had worked up his courage to approach her, though he was still standing at his post.

"What?"

"You're a Marshal, right?"

She didn't feel like one right now, but she nodded, "Yes. I am."

"And that guy is your father?"

It was pointless to lie, "Yeah. He is."

And, proving it had been impossible not to hear, but showing he had taken the most significant parts of her meltdown, the guard inclined his head toward the door behind which James resided and offered a shy half-smile.

"Good for you."

X

Upstairs, Marshall was doing his best not to appear too agitated, but he was finding it difficult to stay still. He had been shuffled off to the side in the detective unit, which wasn't as active as it might typically be. A few police personnel were floating around, but several desks were bare. It seemed that detectives, like WITSEC inspectors, didn't have quite as much crime to worry about around the holidays. It was lucky they lived in an area that was not exactly high on violence or other misdeeds; it helped Marshall sleep better at night with Ben and Lizzie down the hall.

It was taking a lot of strength for the man not to hurry back downstairs and check on Mary, but he'd told himself she might be more grateful after the fact that he hadn't eavesdropped with his ear pressed to the door. If she was comfortable with it, she would tell him anything that had gone on with James. Marshall might have to pry it out of her bit-by-bit, but he could extract the major points eventually. They key word was 'eventually.'

So centered on the task of not pestering his wife, Marshall very nearly didn't hear his name called from over his shoulder. Dimly, he was reminded of when Rachel had stepped up to him at the hospital, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Rachel on this occasion.

"Marshall?"

The voice was twangy and cheerful, a little bit of a kick in each syllable. Against his will, Marshall's fingertips began to tingle at that buoyant drawl, due to familiarity and not attraction. It was hard to imagine how he hadn't predicted seeing such a woman in his midst, given that he was stationed in detective-central. Well, he was a man with a lot on his mind.

"Is that you?"

While the inspector wasn't quite sure who he was, given that he was preoccupied with Mary, he felt his head nod of its own accord as he laid eyes on, for the first time in six years…

"Abigail," and his mouth was moving too. "Hi…"

Not as shell-shocked as Marshall, she bounced right over, her russet-colored waves swinging about her shoulders. He'd forgotten the way she walked – so different from Mary, who always marched all over the place like she was late for a hundred different things. Abigail had a quickstep in her stride, an almost jaunty gait. It was refreshing, but jarring too.

"Hey stranger…" she even hugged him, but the gesture had come and gone before Marshall could register that he had arms around him. "Long time, no see."

Directly in front of him now, Abigail seemed neither bitter nor aggrieved. It could be an act, but judging by the lightened lines in her face and the polite smile on her lips, she bore no hard feelings from their breakup. That period in Marshall's life seemed an awfully long time ago; he'd quit dating Abigail after Mary had miscarried Jamie. In his mind's eye, he saw his old house with the long, skinny kitchen and the lumpy sofa – where he'd lived his entire adult life in Albuquerque prior to hooking up with Mary. A white bandage taped over his forearm flashed through his brain as well, and in the here and now his eyes automatically flickered to the almost foot-long scar from his wrist to his elbow.

"You look well," Abigail's thick southern accent brought Marshall back to present day. "I mean, physically and everything – a little distracted, but well," a tinkling laugh.

"Yeah, I'm sorry…" he offered, telling himself to get with it and be cordial. "I was just…caught off guard, I guess. It's good to see you."

"Yeah, you too," Abigail reciprocated. "What brings you down here? I wouldn't think a US Marshal would need any leads from the detectives around this time of year."

"No…" Marshall tried to chuckle, but it came out sounding slightly squeaky. "I'm here with Mary; she just had something to take care of," it was the same example he'd used with the twins, but Abigail was more perceptive and would know he was evading.

"I see," she didn't press the point. "You and Mary are still rocking and rolling then?"

It was hard to tell if Abigail meant as partners or as something more; Marshall had been very honest with her when they'd split up about his intentions with Mary, so she was probably aware they had gone beyond friendship. He couldn't be sure, though, because his ex-girlfriend was so stiflingly merry; evidently, he needn't worry about jealousy or anything of the kind.

"Uh…I guess you could say that," he settled on a fairly neutral answer before going further. "We'll have been married four years in April."

Abigail nodded daringly, "Finally tied the knot, huh?"

She was so unflinching that Marshall couldn't lie; it seemed that whatever he said would be accepted with grace. As if this hadn't been a strange enough day already.

"Yes," he stated. "We did – better late than never, I suppose."

"For sure," Abigail nearly cut him off with her enthusiasm. "If I was a primary if unintentional part of bumping you two together, then I would say job well done."

Nonplussed, Marshall could only blink at this brash announcement. The Abigail in front of him really wasn't an Abigail he'd ever encountered during their dating years. Back then, her sunshine-and-roses routine had always seemed rather forced, like she was showing him at every step what she could give him that Mary could not. She'd always come off threatened and envious, though Marshall had spent several months disregarding it.

Now, however, it was hard not to think her jovial attitude was catching; she was larger than life, even more so than Delia who had learned to tone it down over the years. Marshall was certainly startled by it, but given the very disorienting day he'd already had, he was willing to take a little over-the-top liveliness, especially if it meant Abigail wasn't harboring any kind of umbrage.

"I can give credit where credit is due," Marshall nodded, trying to get into the spirit of things. "Have you, um…?" he might be overstepping his bounds, but decided to chance it. "I mean…are you seeing anyone?"

With an almost flirty sort of smile, the woman held up her fourth finger for Marshall to see, which boasted a dazzling, shimmering silver diamond catching every light in the vicinity.

"Then I surmise 'seeing someone' is an understatement," the ex-boyfriend cracked a joke. "Congratulations. Are you still engaged or already the old ball and chain?"

"Take out the 'old' part and you hit the jackpot, inspector," Abigail praised. "Jeff and I got hitched about two years ago – happy as clams, the both of us."

"I'm glad to hear it…" and Marshall truly meant it, although he doubted he was presenting a very good front because his brain wasn't with Abigail, but with Mary. "So, are you still Detective Chaffee?"

"I am Detective Douglas now, should you need a favor."

"Douglas…" Marshall repeated, the name sounding familiar. "Douglas…Jeff Douglas?" finally putting the pieces together, even with his slow-working consciousness. "From ballistics?"

"The very same!" Abigail chirped.

The man had been sincere when he had bestowed his well-wishes, but now he felt even more at ease having realized who Abigail had ended up with. He and Mary had worked with Jeff for years and had always hoped he would find a nice girl to spend his life with. It was probably too much to hope for that Mary would consider Abigail 'a nice girl' but Marshall could safely say that he was satisfied.

"Jeff's a great guy," he went the extra mile this time. "You two thinking about starting a family?" to most, this would seem too forthright, but Abigail was being so open that it was hard to think so where this was concerned.

"We are two steps ahead of you," now she waved the file folder she'd been carrying in her hand in a playful sort of way. "We had our first last September, a little boy – Patrick."

Having effectively covered most, if not all of the aspects of Abigail's personal life, Marshall managed a smile at the news that his ex-girlfriend had become a mother. It was nice to know she had moved on so successfully, that she hadn't dwelled over their failed courtship, just as Marshall had not – at least not for long. He'd have felt terrible if he'd discovered Abigail was alone, whether it was his fault or not. Luckily, he didn't have to concern himself with such things.

And, if she thought she was going to get away with all the bragging, she was about to find out otherwise.

"Sounds like we've both carved out a path for ourselves," Marshall observed. "Mary and I are parents as well."

"Oh?"

"Yep. We have two – Benjamin and Elizabeth, or Ben and Lizzie; actually, we go with Bullet for Ben since that's what he prefers," the father laughed.

"Really?" Abigail urged him onward. "How old?"

"Five – both of them. They're fraternal twins."

She let out a girlish gasp at this, "You, Marshall Mann, have your hands full. You always did like a challenge."

"Me and Mary both," he couldn't leave his wife out. "Challenge or not, it's worth it every single day. I'm sure you feel the same."

"I do," Abigail gave a more natural, more restrained nod once they landed on the subject of valuing children. "Jeff and I are very fortunate."

"Us too."

A comfortable silence fell then, sapping a little bit of the woman's excitement into something more controllable, more pleasant. It gave Marshall a moment to reflect on what he had just said, and the result was that he wanted to race through the double doors across the room, Mary at his side, to deliver her to the one thing that would ease the hurt being dropped on her at this very moment. Ben and Lizzie were the only surefire remedy in abating such unbelievable awe and devastation. Marshall didn't know what was going on downstairs, but he could bet that James' intelligence would implicate himself and Brandi, meaning Mary would likely feel that she could count on no one at all once the day was done.

And as if Marshall had summoned his partner just by thinking about her, the door leading to the stairwell opened and an unsteady, wobbly Mary wandered out, looking bamboozled to find herself in the presence of functioning individuals with problems that were miniscule compared to her own.

Leaving Abigail in the rearview, Marshall was at least able to spare her a quick pat on the arm, which he hoped would go a little ways toward a proper goodbye.

"I'm gonna have to jet," he explained, hoping he and his wife could escape fairly quietly, without Abigail to add to the stress. "It was really great to see you. Tell Jeff I say hi."

"Will do…" the brunette's eyes had landed on the other woman, but she was able to shrug it off. "Give my best to Mary," and she sounded genuine.

"Absolutely."

Knowing this would have to do, Marshall hurried across the floor, but it wasn't until he was about two feet in front of Mary that her eyes snapped onto his. He was disheartened to find that the sockets might as well have been empty; she looked bare and lost with the tear tracks staining her cheeks.

"Hi…" he whispered, not wanting her to feel conspicuous. "I didn't want to overwhelm you…" trying to explain why he'd left the scene to set up camp upstairs. "You ready to go?" he'd just assumed since she'd sought him out.

But, Mary shook her head, "No…" a hoarse murmur. "I want to stay – find out what's going on."

"Why don't we get something to eat first?" Marshall knew it was getting close to lunchtime, and he wanted to check on the kids regardless of whether they dined together or not; Delia was just a phone call away. "There are some good restaurants around here; we can refuel and talk about a few things…"

"I'm not hungry," Mary informed him, which was a very rare remark indeed. "Besides, Jinx will probably be here any minute; I want to wait for her."

Marshall didn't really think it was in her best interests to be around when Jinx showed her face, but could understand the desire to sympathize with one another. After all, James had abandoned both of them; even if Mary had spent years thinking she was the only one who was stung by his departure.

"If that's what you want…" Marshall knew it was best to be agreeable and not provide further aggravation. "Let's get some air though; Jinx can find us…"

This was something Mary finally concurred with, and she gave an absent nod as her husband gestured toward the doors that would lead them outdoors. Halfway across the carpet, Mary seemingly walking blind, the man reached for her hand and she accepted without hesitation. Once outside and seated on a convenient bench, Marshall thought perhaps it would be okay to say something, but he didn't want to come on too strongly. Mary would likely run if she thought he was interrogating her.

"Button your coat…" he started with something minor, reaching over to wiggle the knobs into their holes, because the wind was blowing something fierce. "We don't need you sick for Christmas…"

Christmas? Christmas was a distant memory to Mary – only people with uncomplicated lives celebrated Christmas. It seemed so immeasurably inconsequential to her; who cared about Santa Claus and twinkling lights and fake trees? It was all so artificial – for show.

What was happening to her right now – that was not for show. It was as gratingly real as it was ever going to get.

"If you want to stay with your mom for awhile, I understand," pithy comments never lasted long with Mary, so Marshall strove onward, even though her deadened eyes were worrying him. "You know I'll have to pick up my mom and dad at the airport late this afternoon, though…"

Judging by the way Mary enclosed her eyes with her hand and tried to cover it by sweeping her bangs out of her face, Marshall could tell that his parents, much like Christmas, had become an afterthought. The crash back to reality was a particularly strident one.

"Right…" she said to the ground. "Yeah. Fine. I can get home if I need to."

"You shouldn't bother yourself with them," Marshall stated soothingly, bending his neck low in hopes that she would meet his gaze. "I can explain what's happened; they'll understand. Plus, it will all work out for the best, because the kids can spend some time with them tomorrow and they won't even think there's anything funny going on because it's Nana and Papa Seth time…"

"It was him."

Mary's interruption came out of nowhere; Marshall had just been blathering on, hoping to show that he had everything under control when she'd broken in without warning. But, if she was ready to talk, he wasn't going to say no.

"Him…what?" he questioned.

"It was him," Mary reiterated. "It was my dad – Brandi was using him and Scott to replace the money from the Autoplex. For months now. Not a word to me – not to me or Peter or Jinx. According to James, they've been 'getting to know each other.'"

The words tasted sour on her tongue, and she wanted to rid herself of them, of the impression that Brandi could be involved in such a massive act of treachery. After all she'd known about the struggles Mary had-had with James, how she'd languished over him, even absurdly, it had never once occurred to her to reach out to her sister. Add that onto virtually kicking Peter and Holly to the curb, and Mary would be surprised if she was ever able to lay eyes on Brandi again without trying to wring her neck.

But, right now, her anger had ebbed away to make room for the hollow sadness and duplicity, the likes of which she hadn't felt since that grey day in February during the winter of 1978.

Marshall seemed to know by the monotony of her tone that she was not interested in any more bashing – the conference with James had exhausted whatever guts she might've had left.

"I'm sorry she put all this in motion, Mary," he tossed out, meager though the words were. "It's unjust – in a gigantic way."

"I would've helped her if she'd asked…" a quavering, fragile quality inched its way into Mary's timbre. "All she had to do was ask; if not for her, then for Holly and Peter…"

"Of course," Marshall slung an arm around her, knocking their temples together. "You wouldn't have let your issues with Brandi cloud what was best for Holly…"

Mary fell into his grasp, cuddling and snuggling her head against his chest, dampening his expensive wool coat with excess moisture. Sniffling in the chill breeze, she watched as the beads of dew clung to the fabric and wiggled there, tiny pearls amidst the black.

"I love Holly…" she sounded afraid that Marshall was in doubt, but he was nowhere near.

"Absolutely, you do."

"And I love you."

He kissed her hair, bestowing the only appropriate response, "I love you too."

"I don't love him…" meaning James. "This isn't love. Why did I ever think it was? I was delusional…"

"You weren't," Marshall assured her, rubbing the arm he could reach, making sure to keep her secure under his chin. "It was sticky; it was complex; you can't blame yourself…"

"I want this to go away; I want it to be over…"

Marshall noticed a parallel here, "You sound like Lizzie."

But, his comparison prompted only more torment, which had been the furthest thing from the man's goal.

"Yeah…" Mary conceded. "Except Lizzie has a daddy who knows how to make everything better."

XXX

**A/N: Not to worry about Abigail – I threw her in just for kicks! ;) **


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: Hope everyone is enjoying the fallout of Brandi's endeavors! This chapter comes with a shout-out to my buddy Jayne Leigh – nobody loves Seth like her! ;) **

XXX

It was with great regret that Marshall traveled to the airport alone to greet his parents come five o'clock. Not very flattering though it might be, he had practically begged Mary to come along, to take a break from the drama surrounding her father, which had only enhanced with Jinx in the picture. To Mary's credit, she spent very little time with James himself, but channeled her energies into chatting with police personnel or FBI head-honchos on the phone. It seemed that James would not be a guest in Albuquerque for very long. After they processed his paperwork, he was going to be transferred back to New Jersey to await trial preparations, mostly likely on Monday. As his crimes had been committed in so many states, it was going to take some doing to figure out the logistics.

In the time that Marshall had spent with both Shannon women, Jinx had taken quite awhile to calm down, Mary placating her every step of the way. While the man understood the madness coming from his mother-in-law, he didn't think it was of much help to his wife to have to console her. On the other hand, Mary was most herself when she was protecting other people, and Jinx was giving her ample opportunity. To Marshall's relief, Jinx had seemed to consider Brandi a mere afterthought; she was ticked off at James and wasted no time telling anyone who would listen what a wicked convict he was. Because of this, it seemed they were going to be able to leave Brandi's part in the episodes for a later date.

Therefore, the plan was for Mary and Jinx to spend the remainder of the day at the jail or the police station while Marshall picked up Seth and Laura. He would swing back by to grab Mary after they were settled in their hotel, knowing that by six it would be time to pack it in. She was running herself into the ground trying to be the estranged daughter and the US Marshal at the same time.

The airport was a bustling hub of activity, holiday travelers wending their way all over the terminal. Much like the waiting room at the hospital, it had been decorated in tinsel and twinkling lights, reds and greens abound at every corner. Waiting at the baggage carousel, Marshall recalled with a pang that he hadn't given Holly and Peter a second thought since the walking time bomb had been plunged on his doorstep. It was only just occurring to him that his little niece was supposed to be his houseguest in about twelve hours. Although it made him tired just thinking about it, the inspector knew he would have to call Peter sooner rather than later and explain what was going on.

The phone was going to have to wait, however, when a familiar, brusque voice bellowed across the floor.

"Marshall!"

Turning, the mentioned saw his parents hurrying through the gate, his mother weighed down with her knitting bag, his father devoid of any carry-on except his trusty novel. Both looked slightly worse-for-wear after a long day of travel, but in good spirits.

Laura appeared just as she always did, her dark hair styled in the bob-cut it had molded itself into for as long as Marshall could remember. Shorter than Seth, she was right on his heels, taking her time with the walk, never in any hurry. Though she seemed glad to be off the plane, she was much less lighthearted than her husband, but Marshall knew it was nothing personal. She was a very even, very moderate woman that rarely allowed anything to rattle her.

"How are you, son?" Seth gave him a hearty clap on the back once he was close enough, Marshall returning the favor with half a hug around his shoulders.

"Good, dad…" it was best not to start out with the shockwaves that had rocked through his home, because his parents would find out soon enough. "Hi, mom…"

"Hello, dear," soft-spoken as ever, Laura stood on tiptoe and arched her neck to lay a kiss on Marshall's bristly cheek. "Were you careful on the drive in? Airport traffic can be dangerous…" in spite of her caution, her voice never rose an inch; it was barely loud enough for Marshall to hear it over all the activity surrounding them.

"It wasn't too bad," the son said truthfully. "We may hit rush hour on the way back, but maybe we can stop for something to eat and avoid it…"

"We aren't going to eat with Mary?" Seth boomed, as though the idea were ludicrous. "And the little soldiers! Where are they? I was expecting an entourage!" and he actually scrutinized the floor around them, like Marshall had been hiding Ben and Lizzie in one of the suitcases going around on the conveyer belt.

"Well, the day took an unexpected turn…" Marshall admitted hastily. "The kids are hanging out with a colleague of ours – Delia. I asked that she go ahead and take them out for supper."

"Did you and Mary have something to take care of at work?" Laura asked in her whispery timbre. "If she's held up, we don't mind waiting…"

"I think you'd be waiting awhile," Marshall conceded, keeping his eyes peeled for his parents' luggage. "But, let's not get into this now," he suggested. "You've had a long trip. We can talk over dinner."

"Or, we can talk now," Seth butted in forcefully, taking not a single note of all the individuals shoving around them. "Don't be shy, son. What's going on?"

"Seth, if he doesn't want to speak about it now, that's fine…" again, Marshall's mother was practically mum, but her point could not be missed even in her tranquility. "Don't pressure him."

His wife was the one person he would listen to, and so Seth folded his arms over his chest and tapped his cowboy-booted foot, waiting for the right moment to poke around a second time. Marshall was always amazed at their rapport; he had been since he was a little boy. How could a man who was so brazen allow himself to be taken down a peg by a woman who never raised her voice? Then again, Laura had always commanded a certain level of respect, noisy or not. There had always been a sense that she meant business – small, but mighty.

"Mary's all right though, isn't she?" Laura wanted to know once Seth closed his mouth. "That's what's important."

"All right in that she isn't hurt," the younger man illuminated the circumstances only marginally. "Some family problems have come to a head. That's all."

That was not 'all' in the least, but Marshall would feel more comfortable discussing the matter over drinks and dinner than in a place where so many people would be able to overhear. Evidently, however, his mention of 'family' lit a fire under Seth, who suddenly disregarded the woman's tidbit about making demands.

"It's that sister of hers isn't it?" he growled. "The younger one."

"Mary only has one sister," Marshall said in a small voice, hoping the familiar, worn-down charcoal suitcases would come around the carousel soon. "Only one sister that she grew up with, anyway."

"Is she still absent without leave?" it was just like his father to ditch the acronym and make it sound as treacherous as possible. "Still expecting Mary to pick up after her?"

"Dad, really…" Mary did not need to be tempted into igniting further hatred toward Brandi, though there was no denying she deserved it. "It…part of it has to do with Brandi, but…"

Laura must've noticed that Marshall was shifting uneasily, like he was being put on the spot, and took it upon herself to step in again.

"Seth, Mary's sister is none of our business…" she stated briskly, hitching her bag onto her shoulder and meandering toward the merry-go-round of baggage. "You aren't working a case. Be sensible."

Nothing irritated Seth more than being told to back off, and if it were anybody but Laura and her no-nonsense undertone, he'd have given them what for and jumped right back on his horse. As it was, he accepted her words of wisdom and buttoned up again.

"How are the children, Marshall?" Laura strove forth, completing ignoring Seth's looks of annoyance. "Are they excited for Christmas?"

"Thrilled," he said, glad to be onto something more dispassionate. "I'm in a bit of a dilemma about Ben, though. He wants a bicycle, and Mary and I found him one, but I don't think it will really gratify him…"

"Why do you think that is?"

"Well, he needs to be out playing, burning off some steam; he's so energetic…" the grandparents knew this already. "I'm afraid the bike will be a bit of a disappointment when he has to spend so much time learning how to ride it."

"And no grandson of mine is going to want to be stuck with training wheels!" Seth piped up, eager to get his two cents in one way or another.

"He might be more patient than you think," Laura offered optimistically.

"Well, even so, Mary and I are still looking to get both he and Lizzie something they can share – its expensive buying toys only one of them is interested in. It'd be nice if we could kill two birds with one stone and find a present they could both enjoy."

Marshall hadn't thought about this aspect very much lately, what with Holly laid up and the fallout that had ensued, but it had been on him and Mary's to-do list before the fact. He was well-aware that there were plenty of parents in the world who had to shop for two, and he didn't envy those with twins of the same gender who had to buy two of everything. Nonetheless, a mutual gift was something they were working toward, feeling that if it was something pricy, at least they could content themselves with the fact that both children would be using it.

"Well, I'm sure they'll have enough presents to last them, regardless," Laura spotted their suitcases at last and began to lug hers off the conveyer belt, Marshall helping with Seth right behind him. "Your father and I brought as many gifts that we could get through security…"

"A real haul!" the grandfather stated proudly, puffing his chest out. "I got Ben this slick-looking bow and arrow; he'll love it…"

"A real bow and arrow?" Marshall was wary. "Like, a bow and arrow so heavy he can't even hold it?"

"He'll grow into it," Seth was not deterred. "Your mother took care of Lizzie…"

"There was a great old-fashioned tea set I discovered online," she enthused, though still without volume. "I thought Lizzie would enjoy sharing it with Holly once she's able to come home."

"Which should be tomorrow," the son informed her. "She may be hanging out at our house quite a bit, given everything happening with Brandi."

And 'everything' had exploded overnight now that James had taken up residence in New Mexico. Marshall half-expected Seth to burrow for more information about the younger Shannon since it had been brought up, but he was busy retrieving his own bag from the carousel and didn't seem to hear.

Equipped with their luggage and ready for a meal, the trio set off across the airport together, chatting about where they were going to eat. Marshall's mother was game for anything, always a cooperative individual. Seth lobbied for barbecue, which shouldn't have surprised his offspring, and they finally settled on a hamburger place just off the freeway that wasn't too crammed with people who hadn't been up to cooking for the evening.

Marshall knew the moment was going to be upon him soon, and tried to figure out the best way to brace Seth for the news of Mary's father being a stone's throw away. He had always had very strong feelings about the felon who would have been his in-law, claiming left, right, and center that Mary had a real family and shouldn't concern herself with a man who had been so egocentric, a man who had evaded the law too many times to count.

But, as the younger sipped his drink, he knew it wasn't as simple as all that – it had never been as simple as all that. Mary's relationship with her father had always been very intricate, and you couldn't always chalk it up to one choice being right and the other being wrong. It was plausible to think that, in this very moment, Mary would likely agree with Seth's predictable indignation on her behalf, but once the dust settled she might feel differently.

Squeezed into a plastic booth, a dangling lamp over their table, Marshall tried to remember everything he'd just considered as he faced his parents. Standing up to his own father had never been an easy task.

"Mary sends her apologies for not being able to join us," perhaps if he started with something light, it would sway the conversation in a more favorable direction. "She wanted to, really. She's just tied up."

"I'm still looking for details on that, son," Seth ran a finger around the rim of his beer bottle and peered intently at Marshall, practically x-raying his insides with his penetrating stare. "You know I don't like to miss my girl if I can help it. And she wouldn't be skipping out on dinner unless she had a damn good reason."

"Mary certainly knows how to keep her commitments," Marshall echoed. "It couldn't be helped," that wasn't entirely true, as he felt his wife had spent far too much time at the police station already, but there had been no use telling her that.

"You said she's okay though, right?" Laura just wanted to make sure.

"Well…" now was as good a time as any. "We got a pretty big shock this morning."

The inspector set his glass down on his napkin and folded his hands over the tabletop, feeling a stickiness on his skin. It wasn't the most upscale restaurant, but he hadn't envisioned telling his mother and father about James over candlelight. The intimacy of the situation would've just made it feel as theatrical as it already did, and Marshall wanted to downplay it as much as possible. It was already wreaking havoc on Mary, and she didn't need additional histrionics to add to her roller coaster of emotions.

"What kind of shock?" Seth's eyes narrowed while Marshall hemmed-and-hawed.

"Well…" he seemed to be falling back on that phrase a lot. "You know how Mary's sister Brandi has been missing? Mary and I spoke to our boss about trying to find her, and to make a long story short, he determined that she was in Cimarron with Scott – that's their half-brother."

"Mary already told me this," Seth was impatient, which caused Laura to make a tutting noise to quiet him down. "There's a new development?"

"We knew all along that there was probably a third person mixing with them. Brandi's been trying to replace some money that was embezzled from her husband's car dealership."

"And the third party's a nuisance, isn't he?" Seth affirmed on the spot, looking wild about the prospect of a good, juicy case. "Good-for-nothing scoundrel, isn't he? He's gotten things all tangled up for Mary's family and now she has to deal with the aftermath…"

"Yes and no…" Marshall conceded, not liking where this was headed.

"You know, I don't know how that woman of yours handles so much upheaval," the other man imparted his authority, nearly speaking to the room at large because he was so overconfident. "If it were my flesh and blood cluttering things up every other day, they would be hearing from me about where they could buy their bus tickets…"

"Seth," Laura interrupted his tirade and laid a hand on his forearm. "Don't make assumptions," she was like a guiding, persuasive teacher of a young boy who needed to be reminded to use his manners. "Let Marshall finish."

Grateful for his mother's perception, Marshall nodded and swallowed hard, knowing that if his father was already out of sorts about Brandi, he was likely to blow a gasket when he found out about James. The taller, yet younger man was well aware it was his way of showing protectiveness toward Mary, but being so down on the individual who had given her life would likely only inspire guilt in the woman for having pined for him for so long.

"You aren't wrong, dad," Marshall gave him the opportunity to feel superior, fiddling with his napkin absently. "It turned out that the person Brandi was seeing was her father – Mary's and Brandi's father," he hurried to spell it out, mostly trying to avoid fixating on the ire already displaying itself on Seth's face. "He showed up at our place this morning looking for Brandi. Mary's been down at the jail all day looking for answers."

The reactions he received were more severe than he'd even anticipated. His father looked livid and his mother aghast. Seth's response was a little more expected, but Marshall hadn't banked on Laura being equally horror-struck, even if she wasn't heated up.

To add to the surprises, the woman got the first punch in. Apparently, Seth was too flabbergasted to say much.

"Oh, my…" Laura breathed, her eyes very large and open; Marshall could almost see his reflection in them. "Oh, my goodness. Marshall…" now the awe turned into a minor rebuking. "Why didn't you call and let us know? If I were Mary, I wouldn't want anyone to see me in such a state…"

"There wasn't time, mom," her son insisted. "By the time I thought of it, you were already in the air. And, it would've just upset Mary to know you'd cancelled your trip just because of James."

"James? So, that's his name?" Laura fished for the remainder of the story. "James…"

"Oh, that's his name all right," Seth was less stricken than his wife, drumming his fingers loudly and looking murderous. "He's been an FBI Most Wanted for about thirty years…"

"Forty…" Marshall muttered, knowing he wouldn't be heard over the other man's diatribe.

"This is _just_ perfect!" it was almost funny the way Seth could be so offended when James had nothing to do with him – or, it would've been funny if it weren't so dire. "That rat shows up right before Christmas and puts a damper on the whole holiday!" that was really the least of Marshall's worries. "I sure hope Mary told him where he could stick his welcome home!"

"Not in so many words," Marshall was doing his best to stay calm, fingers hovering around his water glass, trying to decide if he needed another gulp. "But, she didn't leave much time for sentiment…"

"That's right!" now he pounded the table forcefully, showing his approval of Mary's supposed emotion toward the criminal. "Don't give him the time of day! Make him sweat a little! Boy, if he were around right now, retired or not…"

"Seth, please," Laura cut in, knowing the further he got into things the more likely it was that he would start shooting his mouth off about more than just James' duplicity. "Marshall…" she turned back to her child, shaking her head and looking woebegone. "What an ordeal for her – so much to bother with so unexpectedly. Is her sister all right?"

"We don't know," Marshall was glad for his mother's practicality even though Seth continued to fume. "It would seem like it, but she hasn't come back yet. Mary's cynical about whether or not she ever will."

"Isn't that all too typical?" Seth could not be silenced for long, but his remark earned him another stern look from his better half.

"You stay out of this, you hear?" she was not exactly cross, but she was definitely serious, and Marshall was crudely pleased to see his father recoil. "Your attitude about Mary's father will not help things…"

"What attitude?" while they weren't fighting, they were definitely at odds on the issue. "She knows as well as I do what a sorry excuse for a human being the man is! She slapped the cuffs on him before he could blink, didn't she?" appealing to Marshall. "Bet she never even flinched."

"Well, I wouldn't say that…" he didn't relish diminishing his partner's image in the eyes of his father, but his version of events was starting to get out of control. "She was overwhelmed, dad. It's a lot to sort out and she's very conflicted…"

"What's to be conflicted about?!"

Here it comes, Marshall thought.

"Some father he was! She can't waste her time on this kind of nonsense! He needs to be locked up and she should never look back!" his wife and son might as well have not been there; he was so worked-up about how Mary had dealt with James' arrival, and making sure everyone in the neighborhood realized it was best to leave him in the dust. "She needs to be thinking of the rest of her family – of the children. If she ever exposed them to him…"

At that moment, Marshall felt his blood begin to boil at the notion that Mary had ever been negligent with Ben and Lizzie where their other grandfather was concerned, but Laura had finally had enough. She'd spent decades of marriage keeping Seth in check, in talking him off the ledge; of playing a soft-spoken compliment to his gung-ho personality. And while she might ordinarily behave slightly awkwardly around Mary because they were so different, that didn't stop her from standing up for her feelings.

"You hush up!" Marshall had to be taken aback by the harshness in her tone, and it certainly halted Seth. "Mary would never let that man anywhere near Ben and Lizzie if she could help it, and however she feels is her business. Don't you go putting ideas in her head. She has enough on her plate already!"

Eyes wide, Marshall tried to let his mother's admonition sink in, but it wasn't entirely hitting home. He couldn't even remember a time when Laura had ever really gone toe-to-toe with Seth, though keeping him in line could sometimes be a full-time job. Even retirement hadn't mellowed him, and it was apparent she'd expected something better.

But, Seth was nothing if not vigilant, "I'm just stating my opinion…!"

"Your _opinion_ is only going to make her feel worse," Laura spoke the truth. "The best thing we can do is be supportive; advice from the peanut gallery is not what Mary is looking for."

Marshall fought a smirk at hearing his father referred to as, 'the peanut gallery.'

Far from reassured as far as Seth went, at least he had Laura as backup. In some ways, his dad's theories about Mary's behavior weren't so peculiar. She _had_ been teed off, acting on every ounce of disloyalty she'd felt from James – Seth would've been proud. Marshall's concern was that he knew Mary would come down from that wave eventually; she would begin to feel the loss and the barrenness and Seth's solution was to bypass such 'namby-pamby' conduct. And so, in an effort not to look weak in front of her father-in-law, she would put up a front.

And that was exactly what Marshall did not need.

"Surely you don't think Mary should be fraternizing with someone like _that_," Seth was relentless. "The man is a smoking gun! He's already brainwashed the sister…"

"The sister's name is _Brandi_," Marshall corrected, not sure why this rubbed him the wrong way. "You've met Brandi; you liked her…"

"That was before I knew she could make such careless decisions."

"Dad, we all make careless decisions," Marshall rationalized, forgetting about looking at his menu and knowing none of them would be ready by the time the waiter arrived. "I in no way condone what Brandi did, believe me. But, it is not black-and-white. James left Mary and Jinx and Brandi when Mary was just seven years old; there are a lot of unresolved issues…"

"Yes," Laura agreed soundly, ripping open a packet of sugar and sprinkling it into her tea. "And the best thing for us to do is let them work it out. I don't imagine James will be around long anyway, dear…?"

"No…" Marshall countered quietly, still thrown by the way his mother had taken a stand against Seth; everything about this day was off-the-wall. "They're sending him back to New Jersey on Monday."

"So Seth, they don't have much time to come to terms with things; let Mary do whatever she needs to do…"

"Just tell me one thing…" the man who was referred to growled, creasing his elbows onto the table and boring into his son's eyes, coming in for the kill one last time. "She gave him a piece of her mind, didn't she? At least tell me that."

Marshall sighed, truly unable to fathom why such a thing was so important to his father, but Seth was a man who expected honor and decency. In his eyes, James was not someone's father or grandfather – he was an unlawful who had broken countless codes of conduct, nothing but a delinquent scumbag who deserved no respect and no decency. It did not occur to him that still waters ran a lot deeper, far below the surface.

"I don't know what she said in the cell," Marshall was truthful on that front. "My guess is that she did. At the house, she didn't say a word to him – threw me my cuffs, and the rest is history."

"Well…" Seth sounded only minimally contented. "At least she had the presence of mind to uphold the letter of the law."

Marshall bit back saying that Mary never put herself above what was right, and she'd proven her worth in one of the toughest moments of her life. Fortunately though, Seth decided it was time that he split for moment, sliding out of the booth and onto the floor. Not before adjusting the cuffs on his button-down shirt, he smoothed his hair and informed his dinner companions were he was headed.

"I'll be in the restroom," he announced. "Shouldn't be long."

"Mmm hmm…" Laura hummed vaguely, now perusing her menu which reminded Marshall to do the same.

It was quiet for a moment as they surveyed their meal options; Marshall was always more comfortable in the silence when he was with his mother and not his father. She must've been reflecting over everything that had just happened as well, because she spoke placidly from behind her list of options.

"You mustn't mind your father…" she didn't sound displeased, merely matter-of-fact. "He gets ideas in his head about how people should act, but most of the time he's just blowing off steam." Glancing up, she fixed her son with a kind smile, "You know he says what he says because he loves Mary so much, right?"

"I suppose…" Marshall didn't commit, but Laura wanted to make sure he understood.

"He does," she reiterated. "He adores her, Marshall; you can't doubt that. I never saw him warm up to someone so fast; it took him years with Shauna and Lisa…" mentioning Marshall's brother's wives.

"It's not as if I'm not grateful," the man wanted this to be clear. "If anything, I'm in debt to him because he gives her a chance at having a father she never had growing up."

Laura flashed him a look sympathy, setting her menu aside to give her youngest her full attention.

"I'll reel him in," she promised. "And, I'm sure you want to get home to her and the children, so we'll have a quick dinner and plan on seeing her tomorrow, okay?"

He could always count on his mother to know what to do, "Thanks, mom."

And the grin she returned to him was not so unlike the one that Mary often gifted Ben and Lizzie in her fondest moments.

"Anytime, dear."

XXX

**A/N: I had to work not to make Laura too much like Carolyn, who was Marshall's mother in the Sam series. I purposely waited a long time before deciding to write another version of Marshall's mom in the hope that readers wouldn't confuse who his mom was in "this" story or "that" story, if that makes sense!**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Schmaltzy, but hopefully poignant material ahead…**

XXX

When Mary walked through the door of the house that evening, trailing Marshall on her hand, it was with the sensation that she had not been inside it for a very long time. The episode with James played over and over in her mind like a black-and-white film, grainy and jittery against her lids. While the images were fuzzy in parts, there were other portions that stood out clear as day. His enormous, cerulean eyes that so reminded her of the kids', the look of benevolence on his face at seeing Mary, and the way he'd praised her as he made his less than graceful exit, just to name a few.

Much to the woman's delight, even though her home was empty, it was not devoid of compassion or consideration. No screaming children in sight, no Delia at the stove, but the lights were on which indicated they had occupied the space not long before. Even the Christmas tree sparkled, a rainbow beacon amidst the dusk falling outside the front window. Packages that had not been there when they'd left that morning were now crammed underneath the lowest branches; there was barely room for Beatrix to sleep in her favorite spot on the tree skirt.

"What is this…?" Mary was inundated and not processing correctly, feeling Marshall slip from her grasp as she stopped in her stride. "Did you do this…?"

'This' included more than just the abrupt appearance of the presents. There was a heavenly aroma coming in the direction of the kitchen – like chicken, maybe even mashed potatoes. The ramshackle area that used to be the office had transformed. The pink princess sheets Marshall had dragged out over the AM were now strung across the alcove doorway, held in place with several sturdy nails. Mary knew without looking that the room beyond the curtain had been spruced up to accommodate Holly when she arrived the next day.

"I did not," Marshall finally answered the question, a hint of smirk convulsing around his mouth. "I know that when I talked to Delia after lunch she said she planned on toting the kids to a movie, and then back here for a bit until dinner. It looks like they were productive while we were gone…"

Meandering to the tree, Mary examined the boxes that had been placed on the ground. The wrapping had definitely been constructed by her children; she would've been able to tell even without the 'to-from' nametags in their kindergarten handwriting. The sloppy scotch tape and too-big pieces of paper gave them away in an instant.

One in bright red paper printed with polar bears read, 'To: Mama. From: Lizzie.' Another patterned with penguins was also for Mary, this one from Ben. Her eye caught Marshall's packages as well, all of varying sizes and shapes. They fit perfectly among the gifts for Jinx, Seth, Laura, Peter and – Mary felt a pang – Brandi. Ben's and Lizzie's presents donated by their parents were, of course, locked up tight since they were supposed to be from Santa Claus.

"Nice wrapping jobs," Marshall commented once he joined the weary Mary at her side. "Delia obviously let them go to town."

Feeling touched as well as comforted by the good smells wafting from the next room, Mary allowed her nose to lead her in the direction of the food. Lifting a lid off a pot on the counter, she exposed exactly what she'd suspected – mashed potatoes. Chicken was sizzling in a covered dish nearby; there was even a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"This is quite something to come home to…" Marshall wouldn't leave her for a moment; hot on her tail every step of the way. "I could get used to it."

No words to express herself, Mary made the last stop of the evening, dragging her feet to the office and sweeping the rose-colored sheet to the side.

Mesmerized, she laid eyes on the perfect little corner for her niece. A second set of sheets – mint green this time – were folded at the foot of the sofa, three pillows stacked on the floor, complete with a plaid flannel blanket. Lizzie had donated a few of her rattier stuffed animals, excluding Pretzel, and someone had unearthed a lamp, which was plugged in on top of the desk. In aspects that Holly wouldn't care about, but that the homeowners did, the carpet had been vacuumed and the furniture dusted. There was even a slot right beside the desk for Holly to slide her wheelchair when she was sleeping. They'd thought of everything.

"I can't believe them…" Mary whispered, feeling tears catch in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. "They went to all this trouble…"

"They were just trying to help mama out," Marshall squeezed her shoulder lightly. "With a strong assist from Delia, I would gather."

"But, Ben hates to clean," the mother wouldn't let this fact go unnoted. "And _cook?_" her eyes flashed back to the kitchen where her dinner was waiting. "The kids don't know how to cook…"

"Well, I would bet that Delia had more to do with that then they did," the man surmised. "And, I wouldn't find it so outrageous that Lizzie would want to be a part of the baking action. Mashing the potatoes was probably a fun job."

Mary was fully aware that her daughter did not possess the muscles required to mash anything, but she was too fatigued and too moved to care. Emotions still running all over the map, she was torn between being so softened by the gestures that she wanted to burst into tears, and experiencing isolation because she'd missed witnessing the twins being so charitable. Both had her welling up regardless, and Marshall was swift in noticing her eyes go shiny.

"Why don't you go lie down?" he suggested, even though it wasn't even seven o'clock yet. "I'll fix you a plate; we can eat in the bedroom."

Oddly, this offer reminded Mary of when she'd been pregnant and had eaten most of her meals in bed, especially when her blood pressure had shot off the charts and she'd been banned from getting up. The memory didn't thrill her; it made her feel still more beaten down, something she didn't think was possible after the day she'd had.

Nonetheless, she had no energy to argue and nodded, feeling Marshall give her a pat on the back after receiving consent.

"You'll be quick?" she'd missed him when he'd gone to pick up his parents at the airport, worn out on Jinx and fretting over Brandi.

"Faster than a speeding bullet," he declared, taking a leaf out of Ben's book. "You may even time me, if you so choose."

Mary just fed him a grim smile, "No thanks."

Leaving him to dish up their supper, Mary passed through the living room a second time, scooping up Beatrix on the way and knocking a few artificial pine needles onto the floor. Her animal friend protested with a loud meow at being woken up, but Mary paid her no mind. She knew she would much prefer the mattress once she got her there, always enjoying the way the quilt felt against her paws.

The bedroom seemed oddly cold when Mary entered it, the dankness from lack of light making it appear cave-like and foreboding. She took care to snap on the lamp on the night table before sitting down, allowing Beatrix to reorient herself on the blanket and kneading with her sharp claws. It was quiet and stress-free, and yet Mary still couldn't find it in her to simmer down.

The visions still swirling her brain were daunting, not to mention intrusive; she longed to shut them out, to close her eyes and forget, but it was next-to-impossible. James' face – his grey goatee and aging features – seemed seared into her mind, like someone had pasted them over her lids to stare at for all eternity. The notion that he really had returned after so many years of Mary picturing it was still too much to bear in its own way, not to mention all the information he'd brought with him.

Sighing, Mary blindly pulled off her boots, but she didn't recline as Marshall had recommended. Legs dangling over the edge of the frame, she stared into her open closet just trying to make sense of it all, but none of it seemed to mesh. All she felt, now that she'd had time to digest everything Brandi had been up to, was high treason and, even deeper, second-best-syndrome.

Her sister had chosen James. And James had not chosen either one of them.

The thought alone allowed the tears to surge forth as they'd wanted to do since Mary had arrived home. More manageable than her thespian performances from earlier in the day, they spoke of raw sorrow and the dreadful, deprecating feeling of not being good enough.

After forty years on the run, James' first stop had been, not Mary, but Brandi – not even Brandi, but Scott. How could she come to terms with that? She had convinced herself a thousand times over as the days, weeks, and months had gone by that she was still her father's favorite. He'd written to her, he'd savored their time together, and never had a negative word to say. And now she knew it was as much a lie as anything else that had ever come out of his mouth.

The real question was: why did she care? The man made her so mad she could hardly think straight, and yet she still craved his approval. Could she at least content herself with the fact that even if she had desired his appreciation she hadn't gone as far as Brandi to get it?

And thinking about Brandi just made the dampness pour faster.

Luckily for Mary, she wasn't alone – not counting Beatrix – for very long. Marshall appeared within five minutes, balancing two plates like a waiter, but he deposited both on the end table once he saw Mary's face, all thoughts of eating forgotten.

Sitting directly beside her, he put an arm around her form, which was shivering, and left a kiss on her cheek.

"It's been a rough one, huh?"

Mary only nodded, as she could think of no other way to describe it.

"You're really a champ though, you know it?" Marshall never shied away from accolades.

"I don't know much of anything anymore."

"Yeah…" he sighed, neither one looking at the other, eyes focused on the stretch of wall in front of them. "It gets pretty hectic after awhile – the lines become blurred."

Still speaking to what would appear to be the surrounding air, Mary's voice came flatly and lacking in any emotion.

"He said Brandi might be back soon…" a cough, like she'd forgotten how to speak. "My…my dad…" the name was foreign on her tongue. "He…he thinks Brandi may show up…"

"She may," Marshall couldn't disagree. "In fact, now that she isn't running around with James anymore, I wouldn't be at all surprised if she came home."

"I don't know what I'm going to do if she does."

Mary sounded like she meant it, like even in her wrath she couldn't possibly predict what would come to fruition if and when her little sister graced her family with her presence once more. The vehemence was cloaked in a lot of disappointment; it was hard to say which would fizz to the outer shell when those moments presented themselves.

"You'll handle it," Marshall was still confident. "Or, I'll handle it. I think you've done enough 'handling' to last a lifetime."

Consoled though she was by his attempt to take the heat for her, Mary knew sparring with Brandi couldn't be done without her, not even by Marshall. He'd taken care of a lot of messy conversations for her in the past, but there was no putting a band-aid on this problem. In truth, his wife knew she might even be a little frustrated if she didn't get a crack at Brandi. Lord knew she was dying to.

But, thoughts of Brandi seemed to be sailing clear out of Mary's brain, her thinking space at an all-time low. No matter how she tried to forget him, James kept pushing himself to forefront, dominating every act of deliberation, every consideration she was making on what felt like one of the longest days in her existence.

How could he be so ubiquitous, so everlasting? He'd been as such even when he hadn't inhabited their breathing space, in the flesh. Somehow, someway, he was always there, but this was the first time Mary was battling to get rid of him.

Only he wouldn't go.

"Marshall…" she exhaled slowly, running a hand over her eyes and planning to tell him just how mixed up she was. But, a different phrase came out, "I'm so tired…" moaning beneath her fingers.

"That makes two of us," Mary could feel him pushing on her lightly, nudging her to lie down and relax, but she didn't budge. "Although, I'd say you have the market cornered on lethargy. Take a load off," he advised when he couldn't get her to move.

"Lying down will not make me feel better…" she blubbered, wanting to stay sheltered in the dark as long as possible, sick of crying and acting so gutless. "Going to sleep will not make me feel better…"

"I know…" Marshall was gentle. "But, it's a start…"

"I cannot take this anymore…" it wasn't the first time she'd said it, and it wouldn't be the last; someday in the future, she needed to mean it. "I cannot do this – not with my family – not anymore…"

Revealing her tearstained, blotchy cheeks, Mary looked at her husband, terribly thirsty for a resolution. There had to be a way out, and yet Mary couldn't find the door. She felt so trapped, so chained and bolted within herself; facing the kind of hurt her father had left her with when he'd abandoned her was too much. On top of Brandi, on top of having James in the here and now – it was all so overwhelming.

And, Marshall's pale face in front of her own said that he was aching for her; he wanted nearly as desperately as she did to pull her from the trenches and start anew. But, there was also a look in his beautiful, twinkling eyes that told her the road was far longer than that.

"Come on…" job one was getting her to unwind. "Rest…let's go…" he tried his best to be firm, thrusting a little harder now in an effort to place his girl on her pillows. "It can't hurt anything…"

Realizing the wisdom of his words, Mary reluctantly did what he said, although now her pillowcase was getting wet, and she couldn't eat. It didn't really matter because, all of a sudden, she didn't feel very hungry. The events of the day had zapped her appetite.

Looking at Marshall from a horizontal position was like watching him tower above her – a mammoth, giant idol that would fix everything the second he figured out how. It reminded her, once again, of her many months of pregnancy, and how many times Marshall's gorgeous face had been suspended above her own.

"I…I…I'm still…" it was hard to talk and Mary swiped at her eyes in hopes of regaining composure. "I'm still just…that he's here at all…"

Marshall began to stroke her hair, "Hard to believe after forty years," it seemed they'd referenced that time frame a lot as of late.

"I just…I don't get it…" Mary tried to explain her confusion, but she wasn't likely to have much luck when she didn't understand it herself. "It was this…this thing – him coming back was this thing that was supposed to make me feel so…" what was the word? "…So…whole. So complete. The last piece of the puzzle…the closure…"

All the similar words registered with Marshall and he simply bobbed his head, taking great care to keep his hand running over her soft, golden waves. It seemed to be helping her to open up.

"And…it didn't…" her voice broke sadly on the final word. "It didn't at all…" another watershed released at such a heartbreaking admission. "It's made me feel…" a hundred different things. "It's made me feel _worse_ than I did before. I'm so empty. Here I thought it was going to tie up all the loose ends and instead…"

Mary shook her head side-to-side on the pillow, sending tears to dry into ponds on the fabric. She even knocked Marshall's hand aside accidentally, but he was careful to resume his massage the second she gave him a chance.

"Instead it's all over…" the discontent was palpable in her thick, foggy tone. "I've waited every day since I was seven thinking he was the be-all, end-all and I was waiting…" her lip quavered dangerously and Marshall was forlorn to see such sadness in her jaded, foresty eyes.

She finished in a whisper, "I was waiting for _nothing_."

At this, Marshall took it upon himself to brush a few stray droplets out of the way beneath her sparkling eyelashes. Astonishingly, she let him, but in some ways he doubted if she even noticed or felt his touch. Her confession was not unexpected – not to him – but to her it must be so crushing after so many years that had been driven by hope.

"I think it's normal to expect more than you received," Marshall provided his opinion plainly. "I think it's a lot easier than people realize to build someone up in your mind when you don't see them over an extended period. You remember James as the father who held you in highest esteem and I think, right now, you aren't really grieving _him_…"

"Could've fooled me," Mary choked out darkly.

"You're grieving what the reunion was supposed to be. And I won't be the one to tell you its okay," he swore. "It isn't. I'm sure it doesn't feel okay at all. I'm sure it feels terrible."

"Terrible is about right," the woman intoned, glad he wasn't full of platitudes, but that had never been Marshall. He was all about facets and figures and specifics. "Terrible all around."

Marshall was beginning to feel as though he were nursing a sick Mary back to health; the way he'd been so adamant about her lying down, and now trying to repair her wounds and soothe her with his rhythmic movements in her tresses. The manner in which she looked at him was riveting; regardless of the turmoil running rampant in her veins, she had not lost trust in everyone. He was her lifeline, and happy to be in the role. The man couldn't help but be reminded of Peter and Holly when he'd detailed for her that he would not be leaving her permanently.

Might the same approach work on Mary? She wasn't three, but she was probably feeling just as misplaced as her little niece.

"Well, whatever you need me for…" he followed up her 'terrible' this and 'terrible' that with something positive. "Don't hesitate to ask. No trying to brave the winds alone, inspector."

"But it's what I'm best at," Mary's reply was quicker than Marshall was expecting. "I don't want to drag you down with me."

"I hardly look at it as such," her partner could be swift too when he wanted. "We are a pair. A duo. A couple. A twosome…"

"I think I get it," Mary finally cut him off by raising her hand in his face. "Can't have one without the other or something, right?"

"Sounds good to me."

The blonde gave an audible scoff, her eyes straying to one side, "Don't lie, doofus," trying to work some of her old toughness in amongst the trifling sobbing. "None of this sounds good to you. I won't blame you for the day you pack your bags and leave us wacky Shannons to deal with our own messes…"

Intending to get to the bottom of things, Marshall placed his hand on Mary's ribcage, blinking down at her serenely, but acutely. She could be extremely stubborn when she'd made up her mind, and he planned to head off that outlook before it could even begin to fester.

"_All_ families go through hardships, Mare," he reminded her quietly, producing a sniffle. "Nothing about this makes you lesser or inferior. It's normal and human and every other synonym therein."

"Yeah…" she sounded utterly unconvinced. "You want to enlighten me on the problems _your_ family has that even come close to comparing to mine?"

Marshall would not pretend to be stumped, not even for a minute. The amount or sheer size of the dilemmas wasn't the point. It was about knowing that certain conditions were out of one's control, that sometimes there wasn't anyone to blame, and even when there was it did not mean the world had come to a standstill. Life was a crapshoot more often than not – it was about who you trooped through it with that really counted.

"Whether the Manns and Shannons have equivalent sufferings is immaterial," Marshall made his thoughts known. "Think about it. If something like what happened to you ever occurred within my inner circle, would you love me any less?"

Mary did not have to ponder, "No."

"Would you automatically assume it was my fault, that I could've done more?"

Again, the answer was automatic, "No."

"Then why do you expect anything different from me?" Marshall had presented his case quite neatly. "I'm here to carry you through – for the long haul. In sickness and in health, right?" reminding her of their vows.

A more animated Mary would've debated with her husband more heartily but, in the here and now, she was too sleepy and worn-out to bother. Gazing at Marshall, she noticed that the lines in his face were a little more pronounced, and the stubble on his chin darker than usual. He'd had quite a day as well, and it wasn't until now that she'd thought to chance a glance.

"Right," she settled for a whisper, skin feeling uncomfortably hot from where her tears had dried.

"And I'm not the only one," his speech wasn't over yet. "Jinx has held up really well; you've got Peter and Holly, and my parents are eager to do their part as well…"

This didn't have the desired effect. Mary sprung up from her parallel position, shoving her hair out of her face where it had fallen in her eyes.

"Oh, Jesus…" she breathed, half-exasperated, half-melancholy. "Your parents. I didn't even ask you about them!"

"I was getting there…" Marshall was not offended.

"How was their flight? Did they get in okay? Are they settled and everything?"

It was amazing how speedily she could alter into her action-packed self, no matter how drained she might be. But, Marshall had no notions about allowing her to get fired up again, which was why he waggled his fingers back toward the mattress, indicating there was nothing to worry about.

"Cease and desist with the third degree," he requested. "They're fine. Mom's her usual sensitive self; dad's raring to go…"

Mary wasn't fooled by his ambiguity, "You _told_ them?"

He had the grace to appear slightly embarrassed, "It came up. Yes."

Mary huffed, but didn't give him too much of a hard time, knowing the fact that he'd confided in Seth and Laura was inevitable. However, she felt thorny all over thinking about what their reactions must've been, especially since Marshall had worked to sound expertly indistinct.

"Christ…" she wasn't through exhaling obscenities. "Your father must think I am such a sissy…"

"He thinks nothing of the kind," Marshall assured her. "Although, he did have a few things to say on the subject."

"Yeah, like what…?"

But, before Marshall could provide her with any details, there was the noise of the front door being unlocked, which meant that unless Jinx had decided she simply couldn't spend the night alone, Delia was back with the kids. Marshall caught sight of his girl's feral features and presumed she was panicking about her appearance and her frame of mind, but for once he was wrong.

In the back of her mind, Mary was worried about how she would look in front of Ben and Lizzie because her eyes were so bloodshot, but the thought vanished almost as quickly as it had entered. Wild horses could not keep her from bounding off the bed, nearly knocking Marshall to the ground. She yearned to see their faces – bright and shiny and pure; the most wholesome, the most perfect little faces Mary had ever laid eyes on.

The timing was faultless; Mary had just enough left to dab under her lids and straighten her top before the bedroom door burst open. She pretended not to have spotted her husband grinning from ear-to-ear at the way her excitement bubbled to the surface.

Lizzie came first, arms outstretched, almost like she knew how heartily her mother was waiting for her – chocolate curls windswept, cheeks pink from the cold, still in her coat and scarf.

"Mama!" she shrieked, for this was a girl who never liked to spend too much time away from her parents. "Mama-mama! Hi daddy!"

"Hey, Lizzie Lou…"

She almost made a detour at her father's voice, contemplating leaping onto the bed and into his lap, but the smallest of nods had her charging the original direction. Mary all-but heaved her little girl into her arms once she was close enough, lugging her up, arms wound around her neck, breathing her in and holding her tight.

"Oh, baby…" she whispered, softly enough that Lizzie might not even be able to hear. "I missed you…"

Lizzie was warm and cuddly, full of hugs and love and a soft, cushy jacket, a fleecy scarf, chilly skin and breathless exhilaration. She felt so wonderful in Mary's arms, nearly as wonderful as the very first time she'd held her daughter five years before.

"Mama, did you see what we did?" the little girl wanted to know, savoring the embrace. "Me and Ben and Delia? We got the house all clean – well, except our room – and Delia helped us wrap presents…"

"I saw…" Mary gave her an extra squeeze to show her gratitude. "It looked so beautiful, and it was such a big help…"

"Delia let me make the potatoes!" she pulled away to share this part, her sky blue eyes vibrant with her success.

Mary poked a finger into her chest and tried to get her waterworks under control, because Lizzie would have an absolute fit if she thought her mother had been crying.

"Daddy guessed you had a hand in there," referring to the food. "I haven't had a chance to try them yet, but I'm sure they're delicious."

"I'm sure they are too!" came a joyful shout from down the hall.

Lizzie whipped her head around and Mary peered around her form to see where the sound was coming from. It was no big surprise to see Delia entering the bedroom, Ben devouring what looked like about six cookies that he could barely hold. He, unlike his sister, had taken care to remove his coat and was wearing one of his many superhero shirts, this one red with a yellow lightning bolt.

"Evening, inspectors," Delia leaned in the doorway as Ben sauntered in ahead of her, her own long coat unbuttoned down the center. "We have been busy-busy bees today, haven't we darlings?" appealing to the kids.

"I liked the movie part better," Ben stated around a mouthful of cookie, hopping onto the bed beside his father.

"What'd you see?" Marshall asked.

"The robot one!" he crowed.

"But, I thought…" the protective dad remembered Lizzie, but she chimed in before he could finish his thought.

"It wasn't so scary!" she sounded so inspired that Mary could've kissed her again, almost tasting the vigor beaming through her eyes. "It was neat!"

"I'm proud of you, baby…" her mother bestowed, twirling a coil around her finger, meaning every word. "That's being a big girl."

"They were the little soldiers they have always been donned today," Delia was equally glowing by the performance of the twins. "When I said I needed a hand with dinner and picking up, they pitched right in."

"Now, that is what I like to hear," Marshall tousled Ben's hair in approval. "Way to go, guys. And, Delia…"

He was about to donate his unending thanks, but Mary was faster.

"You're the best," it was something she had never said to Delia, but it was more appropriate now than ever. Stooping to slip Lizzie onto the ground, she made sure she was eye-to-eye with her fellow inspector, wanting her to know in no uncertain terms that she was earnest to the core. "Really. I can't ever repay you for what you did today…"

Mary lost it for a moment, trying to convey to Delia what a huge service she had provided, and she knew the other woman noticed, but she didn't balk in the least, merely smiled her toothy grin.

"I'm glad I could be here," was all she said. Until, "I wish I could've done more. How are you?"

Her voice was unbiased and gave nothing away, but Mary understood exactly what she was going for. Unfortunately, she was still caught up in what on earth she would've done without Delia and there had been no one to take Ben and Lizzie with her father in the house. The magnitude of the repercussions could've led to pandemonium, both on the kids' end and on Mary's. Delia had definitely gone above and beyond the call of duty.

And the least Mary could do was answer her question, especially when she always scolded the more cheerful of the two because she had a penchant for gossip.

"I've been better…" with a sniff and a watery smile. "But, it helps having the heathens home."

Delia understood, "I'll bet it does."

And, hearing this admission from his wife, Marshall knew her scars wouldn't truly be healed – at least for the night – until she had wrapped both of her beloved children into her embrace, snuggled them next to her heart just to hear theirs beating back.

"Come on, spark…" Marshall encouraged, giving his son a hearty clap on the back. "Go say hi to mom. It's been a long day for her; she could use an extra hug…"

Ben was not oppose to hugs, he simply never stayed still long enough to bother, but it was fortuitous that he was feeling generous and peaceful this evening. Dusting his crumby hands on his jeans, he clambered down off the bed and over to his mother.

Mary immediately pulled Ben in at her right, Lizzie at her left, their heads end-to-end, encompassing them so close she was afraid she might compress them to death. But, just the feel of them there, just for a moment, was enough to make her forget all about James and all the pain he had forced her to relive. Having them in her grasp took her back to their days as tiny, fighting babies in the NICU; they'd had an uphill climb the entire way, but here they were. They were affection and devotion and loyalty all rolled into one.

"Mmm…" she hummed. "I love you Frick," to Lizzie. "And you too, Frack."

Both twins laughed at this, wiggling free and looking highly amused by Mary's chosen nicknames.

"Frick and Frack!" Ben wagged his head from side-to-side. "Mom! You haven't called us that in _forever!"_

"I know…" Mary was well aware, and in spite of how much it would divulge, she finished what she was thinking anyway. "But, I did a lot of things today I haven't done in forever."

XXX

**A/N: Those kiddies would make me feel better if they were real LOL! ;)**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: This is a chapter I saw in my head from the start. I can't say for sure why, so hopefully it doesn't seem random.**

XXX

The lovey-dovey bliss that had filled the atmosphere on Friday evening did not last by the time Saturday morning rolled around. Mary woke up feeling like she had a hangover, even though she hadn't even finished her glass of wine with dinner. Her head was pounding viciously, pulsing beneath her fingertips when she tried to rub it away. Even breakfast didn't help, and the kids were off-the-wall with excitement about getting to see Seth and Laura in the afternoon. Their thrilling adventures with Delia from the day before had obviously taken their toll – it could not have been more obvious that they knew school was out and they wasted no time wreaking havoc.

Unfortunately, bouncing from one end of the house to the other was not an option. Marshall was still trying to get a few things in place for Holly's imminent arrival, after Mary swore up and down that she was not going to leave her niece out in the cold when they'd promised to house her. Although Peter had been brought up to speed and had claimed practically on his life that she needn't stay with her aunt and uncle now that James was lingering, it was a no-go in Mary's book. She was itching to do something – anything, just one thing – right.

Trying to find something to consume herself with so she wouldn't have to brood over her father, Mary tried to tackle the tornado that seemed to have hit the twins' room. As they'd spent the whole of yesterday cleaning the remainder of the house, their bedroom had taken a backseat. But, feeling less magnanimous on this go around, neither child was interested in assisting their mother; no matter how many times Marshall ordered them back to help out. He'd tried to take over the responsibilities, but Mary hadn't let him, banishing him to the kitchen to take care of whatever else needed to be done.

Lizzie was racing between the bedroom and the living room, trying to pretend she was aiding, when in reality she was watching television. Ben was hanging like a possum off the top bunk, swinging precariously, just enough of his legs on the mattress to keep him from tipping over and onto the floor.

"There! There he is, Batman!" Ben shouted to no one in particular, pointing like he scouted something on the horizon. "Jump in the Batmobile and we can still save him!"

Annoyed with his games, Mary thumped the ladder with her palm; "Ben, this is the third time I've told you to get down here!" her patience was thinning. "This is your mess; I'm not going to clean it up!"

"I don't care if it's clean…" he dropped his character for a moment, and then went right back to make-believe. "Oh no, the engine won't start! That means we'll need Superman and his awesome strength!"

Kicking aside the action figures littering the floor, Mary abandoned Ben to see how far Lizzie had gotten in the closet, although she was not working on it at the moment. Three of the dresses she'd attempted to hang up had already fallen to the ground and were lying in a wrinkled heap. The bin where she kept most of her dolls had been upended, Barbies and their clothes scattered everywhere.

"Lizzie!" Mary made herself guttural trying to get her daughter's attention.

"Just a second, mama!" her voice was faint and faraway.

"No – now!"

From an even more distant spot, Mary caught Marshall's tone, "Do what mama tells you. She has a lot going on and she needs you to do whatever you can."

"Daddy, I'll go on commercial…"

Mary was intolerant, "Lizzie, come on!"

Recognizing that her mother meant business, Mary was satisfied to hear thudding footsteps in the hallway before Lizzie flung herself through the doorframe. She was clearly eager to get started so she could return to her program.

"What?" she asked innocently.

Mary pointed a jutting finger toward the doll carton, "Pick these up. Find all the clothes and little purses and crap…"

"Ooh!" Lizzie bleated, covering her ears but looking slightly amused. "_You_ said a bad word!"

"I don't care," Mary snapped.

"I'm gonna call the police on you!" Ben decided to get in on the action, always one to spot the moments where he and his sister could gang up on their parents. "They'll haul you away to bad-word-jail!"

Mention of prison did not sit well with Mary. Operating under the last ounce of endurance she had left, she made it a point to give it to her son and not her daughter, knowing he was least likely to melt into a puddle if she got churlish.

"Ben, quiet!" even her insults were not up to par; she could not think of a good way to get her children to listen, and that discouraged her even more. "I made a mistake! Let it go! And get down here!"

But, noise never bothered Ben. In fact, he thrived on it. Completely ignoring the woman, he slapped a hand onto his forehead like a visor and went back to squinting in the direction of the closet.

"It's not safe for me to brave the waters!" indicating the carpet below. "When the Man of Steel gets here, he'll help me across!"

"You're supposed to be helping _me!_" Mary almost tripped when she stomped back across the room, having half a mind to climb the loft ladder and yank Ben down by his ankles. "I heard the way you helped Delia yesterday; there's no reason you can't do it today."

"Lex Luther wasn't here yesterday!" the boy proclaimed boldly. "I'm in danger!"

Mary was thinking that he was going to be right about that if he didn't start doing what she asked, but at least Lizzie had gotten busy. Chucking her dolls into the basket, pell-mell, was not the way to go about things, however. The container was barely big enough for all the plastic blonde bimbos, the likes of which Mary had never desired as a child, and Lizzie knew she was supposed to stack them because it was the only way they would fit with the lid on. Normally, Mary wouldn't have cared about the lid, but the box was meant to be stacked on top of others, and space was of the essence.

"Liz, you know you can't do it that way…" Mary dropped to her knees and started pulling the dolls back out, which brought her little girl high displeasure.

"Don't!" she shrieked, batting her mother's hands away. "I was almost done!" and doing a slipshod job at that.

"They won't fit unless you lay them flat…"

"I don't want those ones on the bottom!" it was as though she expected the dolls to suffocate under the weight of one another. "I play with them most and then I'll have to dump them all out again!"

"Fine…" Mary left her alone if she was willing to crack down. "Just make sure you can get the lid on."

She ascertained that she was sweating by the time she stood back up, when it felt like twenty below outside. She would've loved to open the twins' window, but knew everyone would think her insane. Considering she was halfway there already, maybe it would be worth it. Why Mary was putting herself through this, she would never figure out, but she was a woman who was very talented at avoiding her problems when she really wanted to.

And right now, regardless of how coarse or boorish she became, the number one goal was not to think about James until she had to.

Seeing that Ben was going to be completely useless as far as tidying up was concerned, Mary knelt down a second time and started chucking his action figures into the toy box across the room. Her aim was slightly off, and what with being so heated up, no one could blame her for being sloppy. Unfortunately, she accidentally launched Astro Boy too close to the still-closed window. The toy hit with a smack and lost one of its plastic arms.

Ben was horrified, but part of it was for show, "Moooommm!" he moaned, reducing the superhero persona. "What'd you do?!"

"I wouldn't have done anything if you would start listening and pick up your own mess!" Mary was unapologetic.

"Lizzie, throw him to me!" Ben pointed out the mangled being. "I'll fix him."

"Why don't you just get down here and fix him that way?" the blonde called over her shoulder, thinking she would do just about anything at this point to get him off his bed and working hard.

"I can't throw him," Lizzie abandoned her task to examine the broken remains of Astro Boy. "I'll hit the fan."

The ceiling fan was indeed whirring around and around; Mary had turned the dial to compensate for not being able to open the window. She didn't like to have it going when Ben was on the upper bunk, even though the loft was low enough in comparison to the high ceiling that he wouldn't decapitate himself. Apparently, however, Lizzie did not trust her pitching arm enough to fling the toy without it getting caught in the spinning blades.

"Never fear!" Ben was jubilant, totally unperturbed by the fact that he wouldn't be able to mend the snapped figurine. "I'm on my way, Astro Boy! Just let me strap on my trusty goggles!" he mimed placing spectacles around his eyes. "Check the conditions…"

Mary, caught up in trying to smooth the rumpled covers on Lizzie's bed, nearly missed her son extending almost his entire torso into the open air jutting out from the top bunk. Her heart gave a sadistic leap, no earthly idea how he'd managed to turn himself into such a sloth, but she intended to put a stop to it.

"Don't even think about it," Mary snarled treacherously, knowing Ben well enough to realize he was contemplating taking a nosedive straight to the carpet. "Use the ladder like a normal person."

"But, I'm _not_ a normal person!" and apparently proud of it. "I am BULLET, defender of the wide open blue, and I've come to rescue Astro Boy from the man-eating dragon that snacked on his arm!"

Not amused in the least by the way he brushed his hair out of his eyes and surveyed the stretch of room in front of him once more, Mary was on the verge of just pulling him down under his armpits by standing on Lizzie's bed. Her staying power had long since run out; there was no telling how she was still going.

But, Ben just continued valiantly, "I'm faster than the speed of light!"

"I hadn't noticed you were so fast when I was asking you to pitch in around here!"

Abruptly, Lizzie gave a shriek at the sound of the television in the other room returning from whatever break it had been on.

"They're back! I gotta go see…!"

Scrambling off the ground, she dashed to the door, spiking Mary's ire another six notches.

"Lizzie, you aren't finished!" there were still dolls all over the floor.

"I'll come right back! I don't want to miss…!"

But, whatever she was going to miss Mary didn't hear, "Prepare for takeoff, captain!" Ben was perched on his knees.

"Ben, I told you! Don't you dare jump off!" but, the woman's usual protective yet precarious tone was etched with mere hoarseness and the inability to regain her marbles; Ben knew she was losing it and was taking every advantage he could.

"All systems are go! Flash is in the cockpit!"

Lizzie bellowed from a remote corner, "It's him! It's him!" in reference to whatever was on television.

Mary's head was about to explode. The pressure was building so fast she couldn't handle it; she knew she should leave, that she should defer to Marshall, but instead of being practical, she used the anger and turned it inside out.

"Liz, turn the damn TV off and come back here!"

No one corrected her grammar this time.

"Three…two…"

"Mama, come see!"

"I'll see later!"

"One…BLAST OFF!"

"Ben…?!"

Mary whirled around just in time to see her son plummet off the side of his loft, free-falling as though he fully expected the earth to be some miraculous cushion waiting when he made contact.

"BEN NO!"

It was impossible to know why Mary screamed when it was too late; there was no reversal of time, no way to send him back from whence he had come, no rewind button to do it all over. And yet, in spite of her panic, Mary did the only logical thing as a mother and as a Marshal. Her instincts took over; she flung out her arms and caught him, but he was not the sack of potatoes that Lizzie resembled. He was a growing, hefty five-year-old boy and his sheer weight knocked Mary onto her back where she smacked the back of her head.

It all happened so fast that the woman was shocked to find herself on the floor; Ben sprawled on top of her in an eagle-spread. Mary wouldn't have been surprised if he'd broken several of her ribs, and the base of her skull was throbbing, though she'd had enough experience with injuries to know her head was fine and so was her chest.

It was her mental state that had gone by the wayside.

Ben, alone, seemed exhilarated by the events, but he was in for a rude awakening.

"Whoa…" he breathed, his brown hair wild and mop-like. "Nice catch, mom; next time, you should…"

But, Mary had-had it. As easily as her mother bear intuition had presented itself, her trademark malice and malevolence reared it's very ugly head. Not thinking for a second about what she was doing or saying, she flung Ben off her trunk and the words that spewed from her mouth spoke of nothing but absolute bitter anger.

Anger at her father and Brandi, yes. But, all she saw in their place was Ben – disobedient and unruly and standing right in the path of her ferocity.

"I have told you a million times to quit jumping off the furniture! What is wrong with you?! You know how to listen; you are not stupid!" her throat went sore as she raged at him, but he didn't flinch. "You are not a bird; you are not a bird or a plane or a superhero or anything else that flaps – you are BOY!"

Still, he was calm, used to his mother's scolding. Until…

"You are BOY and boys cannot FLY! You can't fly! You will never be able to fly and if you don't cut it out you are going to break your neck and end up in the hospital like Holly! Do you understand me?!"

Mary knew instantly, she knew the minute she closed her mouth that she had gone infinitely too far. Her compulsion was to apologize on the spot for taking her frustrations out on Ben, but thoughts of manning up and hanging her head were wiped away when she saw her child's lip begin to quiver.

Mary watched in horror, felt her very heart crumble as she witnessed Ben's face alter from aloof to emotionally trampled as though a painter's brush was sketching him from smile-to-frown. She knew he was not falling apart because she'd yelled at him – she yelled all the time – but because she had done what she had sworn she would never do. She'd foiled him and destroyed his dreams.

She'd shown in every word that she didn't believe in him. He was a fake. He couldn't fly. Five years of trying, and she'd ruined it for him in two seconds.

Mary wasn't sure she was breathing; Ben's eyes filled with tears, tears he tried to hide beneath a brutal scowl, but tears that had risen nonetheless. Responsible though she was for his torment, she still couldn't reconcile that he was crying. Ben never cried – ever. His exterior was so thick, and if Mary had been unkind enough to break it, she was nothing more or less than a monster.

All thoughts of being firm flew out of her head.

"B…Ben…" a hand floated pointlessly between them, as though for a hug, but Mary couldn't make herself initiate. "B-Ben…I…

And all of a sudden, there was Marshall.

"What is going on?"

And Lizzie right behind him, "What happened?"

The appearance of others watching his meltdown was too much for Ben's pride. With one last tortured look at his stricken mother, he turned and bolted from the room, but not before Mary called out to him one more time.

"Benny!"

But, the bathroom door – the only door in the house with a lock – had already slammed, leaving two bewildered and one agonized individual in its place. Mary was so livid, now with herself, that she actually kicked the remaining pile of action figures, spraying Supermans and Batmans all about the room so that it was worse than it had been before. Lizzie leapt about six feet in the air at the outburst, but fortunately Marshall knew it was smart to get rid of her.

"Get back to your show," he ordered. "Go. Now."

Looking almost as upset as her brother due to Marshall's stern direction, Lizzie at least did as she was told, vanishing on the spot to leave her parents alone.

Mary's temples were still thudding from the headache she'd woken up with, to go with the lump forming on her head and the ache in her ribs. But, none of that compared to the heavy pain in her heart at having caused her child such devastation. How could she have done it? How could she have let James and Brandi get to her so brutally that she would say such a thing to Ben?

Leaning against the smooth wood from the slats on the upper loft, Mary felt Marshall's hand brush her shoulder, but she just closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to face him – wouldn't have to face such humiliation.

"You need a time-out," he was soft, speaking like she was the one who was five. "You need a break. No arguing. This was a poor idea from the start."

She couldn't bicker with him, even if she wanted to. He was right, and so she nodded to show him so, eyes on her socked feet from her position against the lumber.

Marshall's hands on her back were gentle, rubbing in nice, neat little circles, but he wasn't going to take his wife's assent without an explanation.

"What happened?" repeating Lizzie, though less hysterically.

Mary gave him the muddled version, grateful she wouldn't have to look at him.

"He threw himself off the bed. I had to catch him or he would've cracked his skull…"

"And…?"

"And I was already so pissed I thought I was going to burst…" she should've listened to that tightness in her chest, the suffocation that had told her to end it before it escalated to such a level. "And, I told him…"

It would've sounded so ridiculous to the innocent bystander, but Mary knew the kind of clout it had held with her son, and that was why it was tearing her up.

"I told him he couldn't fly. That he'd never fly. Ever."

The man sighed – Mary could feel it pass through his body from where he was standing behind her – but he was a man of very high lenience, and there was no way he was going to make her feel worse.

"I'll have a talk with him."

This wasn't fair, and Mary wasn't so broken that she couldn't shoot Marshall down, although it was with something less than longing.

"I'm the one who should talk to him," she mumbled, in no mood to turn around and see Marshall's sympathetic face, which would only increase her problems. "I'm the one that just killed his dreams."

"He was going to find out one day," Marshall was surprisingly reasonable about such a thing, for he had always been the more sensitive parent and had sought every day to make sure their children's feelings weren't hurt. "Better to do it before he breaks too many bones," a conclusion.

Again, Mary could only nod, and although her gut reaction was to undo her enormous blunder, she couldn't pretend she wasn't grateful Marshall was going to do the honors. Finally slipping around and blinking at him, she gathered she must look bedraggled to the maximum, and knew it to be so when Marshall cupped her cheek in his hand, moistening his palm with slick tears.

"You haven't even showered yet," he observed. "Forget this; it really isn't important in the grand scheme of things. By the time Holly gets here, they're going to be yanking everything out again anyway."

Feeling rather emasculated when her hard-nosed quality evaporated so quickly after demoralizing Ben, Mary suddenly felt okay accepting that straightening the bedroom wasn't meant to be.

"Wash your face," he instructed. "Put some clean clothes on; talk to Lizzie if you need to. I will iron out things with Ben."

With a long, shuddering sigh, Mary granted him permission to be on his way, jerking her head at the open doorway, which he meandered through the minute she allowed him to go. She was such a cliché, letting the ramshackle actions of others embed so deep within that she took out her temper on the most unsuspecting and undeserving party. It was textbook as far as skirting one's emotions was concerned.

Meanwhile, Marshall proposed to do his part with his son, though he would be working without a net – as Ben had in the literal sense. It had always been unclear to both he and Mary how much Ben believed in his ability to take flight and sail through the clouds. His imagination was so vast that it was sometimes hard to tell where Ben ended and Bullet began. But, as he'd told his wife, they'd known this day was coming. There were some dreams that couldn't last forever.

And Mary was learning that firsthand.

Knocking lightly on the bathroom door, Marshall called out in a tender but coaxing sort of voice.

"Ben!" inching upward in tone just to ensure he would hear through the wood. "Open up, spark. I want to talk to you."

Already having been disciplined for not following directions that day, the boy wasted no time in unlocking the hatch so that his father could join him. Twisting the knob, the inspector poked his head through the frame, wanting to leave Ben with a little bit of dignity and not just barge in.

His son was sitting on the closed toilet, rubbing his eyes with his fists, which only succeeded in making them more bloodshot than they already were. Refusing to look at Marshall, he cast his gaze on the floor and focused instead on ensuring he would not be viewed as some pathetic crybaby. Like mother, like son.

Maintaining his calm and cool demeanor, the father journeyed past the sink and lifted Ben from his throne without asking, settling him onto his lap after sitting down. He rarely, if ever, wished to be held or coddled, but he kept his mouth shut and continued to look daggers through his snuffles.

"We need to have a bit of a discussion, my boy…" Marshall started simply. "For a couple of reasons."

Ben didn't answer, just held himself stiffly and stoically through his father's babble.

"You should know that, while she went about it the wrong way, mom did not mean to make you feel badly," it was an old, tired excuse, but Marshall thought of how many times it had been used for Brandi and figured it was his partner's turn. "She's having a very hard time with something that has nothing to do with you, and she was pushed a little too far."

If Ben understood or believed this, he didn't say so. What he articulated instead was jumbled and tangled from his sorrow, but there was a hint of insolence in his sadness as well.

"She said I can't fly."

"I know she did," Marshall tipped his chin onto his hair. "How come that upset you so much?" it wasn't right to assume.

"Because I _can_ fly!"

There was no mistaking the faltering of his voice, the way the syllables vibrated the longer he tried to sound confident. He was halfway to failure already, and Marshall hated himself for it, but now that the can of worms had been opened, he was going to have to dump it the rest of the way.

"Ben…" using his kindest, most placid voice. "I'm sorry, spark, but you can't fly. That doesn't mean mom should've shouted at you and said it the way she did, but you just can't, buddy. People – humans – they can't fly. But, just because you can't do that doesn't mean I want you to stop pretending…"

His encouragement for flexing Ben's extensive world of make-believe was shot down with his son's vicious theory that he'd been operating under for the past five years.

"But superheroes _can_ fly! And I'm a superhero and if I just practice enough…!"

"Ben…pal…" he'd never used so many terms of endearment all at once. "I know this is rough, but practicing won't make a difference. Superheroes are in comic books and movies; people invent them, which means they make them do things that real people can't do." This was getting very cynical, and Marshall opted to turn it around, "But, I think you are super in _a lot_ of ways that superheroes are – real ways. The way you protect your sister, the way you're so brave and strong, and you're a wonderful helper when you want to be…"

"But, superheroes FLY!" he insisted angrily, staring at Marshall with what was obviously violent disappointment. "I'm not a superhero if I can't fly!"

Tragically, he buried his face in his hands and started crying all over again; it was odd to see him so destroyed; it made him look even more like Lizzie than he usually did. While it might have been foolish of him, Marshall had not anticipated running into an impasse of this magnitude. However much faith Ben had in himself, it was clearly going to be difficult to dash it, though his unusually fragile behavior went a long way toward showing he was thinning fast.

"Ben, not being able to fly doesn't make you any less special," perhaps praise was the key. "And you can still be Bullet, through and through. Bullet has always been about more than having wings; I love Bullet because he's sure of himself, he knows what he wants and how to get it, and he never lets anybody down when there's trouble…"

Speaking about Ben and Bullet like they were separate people seemed to abate his son's strain just slightly. It demonstrated that Marshall held the virtues of Bullet in highest esteem, even if his physical attributes were lacking. Sniffling loudly so the snot wouldn't drip down his shirt, the child ran a hand under his nose, which prompted Marshall to unroll a few lengths of toilet paper so he could wipe up.

"Use this, man…" folding the makeshift-Kleenex in half, he handed the tissue to Ben. "Don't cry…"

"I am _not_ crying," he declared almost sadistically, and Marshall immediately decided that he could let that one go.

After a moment's silence where Ben began to pull himself together, though he still looked rather miserable, Marshall knew that since he'd mentioned Mary's predicament with James that the subject was going to rise again in the near future. Ben wouldn't forget; he would want to know what the 'hard time' was, and in spite of Mary's attempt to conceal him and Lizzie from their grandfather, she would eventually forfeit they needed the truth. She always did.

And so, because he loved his son and felt heinous in his own way for lowering the boom that he was no seven-forty-seven, Marshall became reconciled to giving up the ghost.

Smoothing his knotted, soft brown hair, "Would you like to know something I would only tell a _real_ superhero, because I know I'll need the very best of help to make things better?"

Ben was fairly unenthused, eyes watery and dim, "What?"

"Do you remember yesterday when mom and I sent you and Lizzie off with Delia?"

He was also blunt, "Duh."

"Well, I bet you also remember that there was a man here in the house when you left."

Ben disregarded his callous remark almost as much as Marshall had, eyes showing curiousity even in their reluctance. While he wanted to hold hard and fast to being disgruntled, piqued interest had definitely gotten the better of him. Inching away from Marshall slightly so he could see his face a little more clearly, he angled for more.

"Yeah. Who was it?"

Of all the people who had been informed of James' appearance, Marshall anticipated Ben being the least dumbfounded, but he was in for a surprise.

"That was mom's dad. He came by looking for Aunt Brandi. It was the first time mom had seen him since she was just a little older than you."

Ben's tears glistened beneath the overhead light, standing out like raindrops against his unspoiled skin. His eyes, so very-very blue and not so unlike the man's they were discussing, opened like the big sky above. He was not horrified or troubled, but indulgent, even sympathetic, if a boy so young could experience such an emotion at all. Marshall couldn't say for sure how he recognized the sensations, but he knew Ben's look of hunger, his need for battle; he knew when he didn't want to squander time dealing with feelings, but this was not one of those times.

There was a very good reason the inspector had always considered children to be the most untainted and natural beings in the world.

"Oh…" he eventually whispered, digesting a piece of information so big. "Mom…" waiting a minute, trying to find the phrase he wanted. "Mom…she was sad, huh?"

"Yeah…" Marshall shouldn't have been shocked he was so perceptive, but he was. "How'd you guess?"

"Because mom's always real-real brave and tough, except when she tells me and Lizzie about her dad," he shared. "Then she always gets sad. She's always sad because of him – because he left her a long-long time ago and never came back."

"Well, that's about right," the father confirmed. "Seeing him again made it hard for her to think about how much he upset her all those years ago. And, you know he isn't a very nice guy…"

Fortunately, Ben was familiar with the details; "Is he going to _jail?_" shock and awe were written all over his face.

"He's already there," Marshall verified further. "And, that's no fun for mom either, even though she knows he deserves to be there."

Ben was thoughtful for a moment before he went on, "Was mom as sad as I was just now when I found out I couldn't fly?"

This statement was proof he was starting to get over it already, which went a ways toward easing Marshall's guilt, even though he had not been the one to set this in motion.

"Probably sadder," the man admitted. "It's going to be tough for her here in the next few days; that's why she needs you and me and Lizzie to do whatever we can to make her even a little bit happier. I know she's sorry she yelled at you, spark. She told me."

Not those exact words, no, but it had been easy to read Mary's shame – she wouldn't have demolished the bedroom by whacking the pile of action figures with her foot otherwise. But, mention of the blowup seemed to bring Ben's attention back to the gust his ego had suffered not so long ago, and his mother's troubles were momentarily forgotten.

"There must be a way I could fly…" he muttered, even if it was just to himself. "Even just pretend…even if I didn't stay up for a real long time…"

Marshall knew this was the boy's way of expressing his inability to contain himself and his boisterousness, something he probably couldn't help. But, his words instilled a kind of inspiration in Marshall. Something about the phrasing, the structure of the sentences, had Marshall picturing one half of his twins airborne in a way he never had before. He could understand the desire to soar into the stratosphere, weightless and free, no shackles or constraints to hold you down. Even the most rational of adults could understand that, and whether temporary or permanent, Ben was just looking for his chance to be able to spread his wings and jump.

"You know…" a slow smirk formed on Marshall's lips. "I think I just thought of the _perfect_ gift for you and Lizzie to share for Christmas…" as he'd mentioned to his parents the night before. "I'll see if I can put a rush on one last letter to Santa, okay?"

"What is it?" Ben's need to know was instantaneous. "Tell me!" the beginnings of a smile flashed in that handsome face.

"You know I keep my secrets," Marshall wouldn't talk. "From now on, no more leaping off the furniture though, all right? And try to be patient with mom; she needs you more than you know."

And in the back of his mind, gargantuan though Ben surmised his quandary to be, the inspector couldn't help thinking that Mary probably wished her biggest problem was that she didn't know how to fly.

XXX

**A/N: Many thanks to those who are reviewing! XOXO**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Big chapter ahead! I worry that the chapters have gotten too long and become tedious to read. Hopefully this one will be worth it? ;)**

XXX

The day scarcely improved after the ruckus of a morning created by Mary's bad mood. Although she managed to calm down and leave the twins' room in disarray, neither child seemed interested in being near her, but she wondered if part of that was Marshall's doing. He sent them out into the backyard to play for awhile, hats on their heads and gloves on their hands. He also made the foolish suggestion that Mary try to take a nap because she'd slept so poorly the night before, but she couldn't rest even if she'd wanted to. Her mind was on overdrive, and it was about to go careening into the nearest guardrail for what felt like the hundredth time.

The slamming of the front door met her ears while Mary was lying on her bed perusing a few files from the office, mindless busywork that Marshall would be appalled to learn she was bothering herself with. Nonetheless, there was no missing the crash that came from the hinges swinging into place, which was quickly followed by busy, frantic voices.

"You have to tell her you're here!"

The inflection was definitely Jinx's, high-pitched and frenzied. Flinging her folder to the bare side of the mattress, Mary sat up, hoping to hear more.

"You are going to do this and you are going to do it now – you owe it to her!" Jinx again.

"Come in here; I want to talk to you anyway…" and that was Marshall.

Furrowing her brow, Mary didn't really have all of her wits about her and couldn't figure out what was going on. What would make Jinx act so urgently? And was she referring to Mary? Somebody owed Mary something? That was certainly a new color on Jinx.

"You're here and you're going to stay!" the mother insisted shrilly.

"But, maybe we should wait a few minutes before bringing Mary into it…"

And then a third voice split stridently into the mix, "Why wait?! She's gonna rip me a new one no matter what!"

Mary flew off the bed so quickly she nearly tripped and fell over the frame. Hands outstretched in case she did topple over, she managed to regain her balance before streaking the length of the bedroom, flinging her door open and stomping down the hall.

She knew who the third voice was. It was more recognizable than Jinx's, even than Marshall's and he was the only man in the house. But, the timbre had always been very unique – coarse and scratchy, like rattling gravel or sandpaper rubbing together. It made Mary think of crackling fall leaves in her warmer moments, and blaring static through a radio in her more stand-offish ones.

Right now, it prompted a searing, burning heat that rose as a flush in her cheeks, her socked feet slipping and sliding on the hardwood as Marshall came into view. He stood with his arms extended, like he was trying to call a halt to whoever dared penetrate the home. Jinx was present as well, in jeans and a fuzzy pink sweater, her brunette hair slightly uncombed and falling down her shoulders.

And there between them, in grey sweatpants, a ratty denim jacket, blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, was Brandi.

The scene was suspended mid-action, like the trio of individuals had put their performance on pause just so Mary could walk in at the right time. But, the missing member stalled once she reached the sofa, drinking in her little sister, trying to process that after days of worrying while simultaneously brewing with resentment, that she was finally here. In one very small way she had actually proved Mary wrong. In spite of James' prophecy that she would return now that her band of conspirators had broken up, the elder sister had honestly given up hope.

"Where are the kids?" Mary's mouth opened even though she didn't intend to let it; her impulse was ahead of her thoughts.

"Still outside," Marshall reported dully.

"Go with them."

Mary wasn't as accustomed to giving Marshall orders as she used to be. In their heyday, she'd been quite comfortable sending him left, right, and center so long as it meant she got what she wanted. While she didn't especially like the way she sounded arranging so that he could do her bidding, she also knew it was imperative that he keep Ben and Lizzie sequestered. After the morning they'd already endured, they didn't need to see Mary blow her top a second time. Once was more than enough.

Jinx seemed despairing by being asked to leave. Perhaps she thought she could facilitate some kind of reconciliation between her daughters, but even that was going out on a limb. Now that Mary could see how the mysterious person fit into the bodiless voices she'd heard behind the door, it followed that Jinx had actually been trying to force Brandi to take responsibility and face Mary. Could it be that she was finally realizing the kind of havoc her younger daughter had put them all through?

Marshall, on the other hand, appeared leery of leaving the two women alone. He had kept his distance as much as possible in the last few days, but he was dying to be of more comfort than his wife was allowing him to provide. Nonetheless, she had enough barriers to break through without him standing in her way.

"Are you sure?" was all he asked.

Mary nodded curtly, "Yes. Go. I need to speak to…" a hard gulp followed the bobbing of her head. "…My sister."

She practically spit the phrase, knowing there were no notions in her mind of holding back. Brandi looked frightened at what was coming, and Mary was crudely satisfied by the terror that resided. She hoped Brandi fought back; she hoped she made excuses and pled her case to no avail, because it would just give Mary every opportunity in the world to lash back and brawl with the best of them.

"Please…" Marshall still hadn't moved, so Mary minimized her approach for half a second. "Go."

The man obeyed on this front, gesturing toward the sliding glass door in the kitchen so Jinx would join him. She slumped over rather reluctantly, breaking between her girls and looking desperately from one to the other.

"Honey…" to Mary. "If you'd let me stay, I could…"

"Mom," she interrupted shortly and flatly. "Go with Marshall."

Green eyes looking remarkably shiny, Jinx conceded defeat and wandered past the island behind her son-in-law. Mary waited until she was certain the door had slid shut and that the kids had not escaped indoors before facing Brandi with cold, dead eyes. The hatred she felt just seeing her stand there was like nothing she had ever known. Only the smallest trickle of relief ran in her veins knowing that she was all right, that she hadn't managed to get herself killed – that Holly had not lost her mother.

But, the lackluster appearance, the red-rimmed eyes, the guise that she was wounded – all of it made Mary want to race across the room and choke her until she felt as badly as her big sister did. She was so deceiving and disloyal and Mary couldn't wait to tear into her.

It was when Brandi's mouth began to open, like she expected to have the initial word, that Mary blasted off like a rocket and never looked back.

"So. She lives."

Brandi only scuffed her feet, and her lack of a rebuttal just encouraged Mary to pull up her bootstraps and get on with the fight.

"How could you do this?" her petition was dark and lethal, her hands quaking on the spot, her feet craving to run and shake answers from the one who had caused so much turmoil. "How could you show your sorry, wretched face after what you did?"

Mary's compulsion was to move closer, but knew it would be a very bad idea to do so, because she did not trust herself to keep her hands off Brandi. She had been known to carry a violent streak in her past, and now wasn't the time to act on it, not with Ben and Lizzie just a stone's throw away.

Why she gave her an opportunity to defend herself, Mary would never know, but hand it to her she did.

Brandi's voice was meek, "I thought…because it was dad…" she whispered. "Because it was dad…that…you might…" she knew it was reckless to go down this road, but she decided to take the plunge. "…You might…under…"

"_Understand?!_" Mary bellowed, tone ringing in the space that surrounded them. "Why the _hell_ would I understand?! He's a CRIMINIAL! What in God's name were you thinking?! How could you get mixed up with someone like him?! You brought him – you brought him to this house…!"

"He came on his own…"

Mary paid no attention, "…To this house where my _kids_ are! How could you do that?! Do you have any idea what I went through just trying to keep him away from them?! Not to mention what I had to screw around with because he showed up!"

Just the fact that she'd had this conversation what felt like a million times already was enough to make Mary even more irate. She'd talked about it with Marshall, with Jinx, and with James himself, and Brandi compelling her to drudge it up all over again was just icing on the cake, and not in a good way.

"This is exactly why I didn't tell you…" Brandi moaned, tears springing to her bright blue eyes, James' in miniature. "Because I knew that if you _didn't_ understand, I would have to hear about it; I just walked in two seconds ago and you're already on my case…"

"You've been gone for _four_ days!" Mary reminded her at her most ample volume. "No note, no explanation! Mom's been running around half out of her mind thinking you were dead!" she wasn't going to mention that she'd wondered the same thing. "You're someone's daughter! You're someone's wife and someone's sister and someone's MOTHER!" the last one was the real nail in the coffin. "What could have possessed you to the point where you would think messing around with dad was favorable to being with Holly?!"

Mary's hands were gesticulating in several different directions as she continued haranguing Brandi, who winced every time she became louder and more berserk. Eyes popping, face reddening, she knew she must be a true sight to behold, but that was the least of her worries at this point.

"I knew that Holly was safe -!"

"She was _sick!_"

"I knew that she was safe and that Peter would get it once he learned I was just trying to help him! You have no idea how much money he lost when that person who worked for him stole from the dealership; he was going into foreclosure…!"

"Did _you_ steal the money?"

"What?!"

"Did you steal it?!" Mary repeated wildly, not knowing she was factoring in the possibility until the accusation left her mouth. "I can't figure out what other reason you would have for working your ass off to replace it unless you were the one who took it in the first place!" and even that wouldn't be enough to account for the massive fraud she'd committed just by being with James.

"Of course I didn't steal it!" Brandi had the audacity to sound indignant, sticking a hand on her hip. "Why the hell would I do something like that?!"

"There are so many reasons to choose from!" the elder countered viciously, practically baring her teeth like a rabid pit bull. "I don't know why you do anything anymore! If you're willing to drive from here to there with some outlaw and have no problem accepting _his_ stolen money, then embezzling from the Autoplex should be a cinch!"

A poor excuse for a rebuttal was whizzing through Brandi's brain; Mary could tell by the way she gaped soundlessly for a moment, as though sickened that the taller of the two could take the situation and make it sound so calculated.

"It wasn't me that took the money from the dealership," Brandi insisted finally, and she still looked insulted at such a perception. "But, Peter was ruined and he needed someone to do something; when Scott couldn't help me, I went to the next best thing…!"

"You think _dad_ is the next best thing?"

How could Brandi be so blind, so utterly and inconceivably moronic?

"He's better than you!" the shorter was getting worked up now, acting upon the reasons she'd set her entire plan in motion in the first place, even when she'd realized she'd been in way over her head. "I knew if I ever asked you for money that _if_ you loaned it to me, you would never let me forget it! It would be hanging over my head forever! With dad there were no strings!"

"Brandi, he is a con!" Mary was unable to believe she had forgotten something like this. "He could've been lying through his teeth to you and you'd be none the wiser! Do you really think you're clever enough to outsmart someone like that? You had no way of knowing when he might turn on you!" she even ignored the slight on her own character in order to get through to her little sister, but it was pointless.

"For your information, he never once turned his back on me!" Mary's heart began to race seeing just how taken in Brandi had been by a man who had left her in the dust, and the way she discounted the sister who had been there for her all along. "It was me who left him! I just got nervous, I just…I wasn't sure…I thought I had enough to get by…"

Hearing her try to cover up her obvious anxiety for how far things had gone was absolutely unimportant to Mary. What did she care that she'd left the scene she'd been on, just like she'd left the scene at the hospital? Just remembering the hospital gave Mary another reason to straddle her vengeance.

"And when you were on your little vacation with James and Scott, what did you think was going on with Holly?" Mary was biting and rueful. "Suppose something had happened to her. How was anyone supposed to find you? Would you have even cared enough to turn up for the funeral, or is a deal with a couple of bookies more essential than that too?"

"Peter was with Holly!" as if this made any difference. "And with you and Marshall and mom, and I wasn't supposed to be gone as long as I was; it just took a few days more because dad was trying to be careful…"

"Holly is your _daughter!_" it seemed there should come a day when Brandi no longer needed to be reminiscent of this fact, but that day was not today. "Do you know how many people would kill to have what you have, and as easily as you got it?" a selfish, jealous stripe surged in Mary's blood at bringing that up, but she buried it. "How can you take her for granted like you did? You will never get that time back; Holly is never going to forget that you ditched her!"

"She's only three!" the other woman was inexorable. "Not even! She won't remember – and I'm here now!"

"_I_ remembered!" Mary was unable to resist feeding her sister with the cold, hard truth where a parent's neglect was concerned. "I remember every single time your new best buddy left me in limbo to take care of your sorry ass and mom's drunken one! It is a bad dream, it is a nightmare, and I relieve it way more times than you ever want to hear about! And trust me, Holly will remember too!"

"Well, you probably want her to!" now Brandi took a step closer, droplets spilling over, sputtering almost unintelligibly as Mary fought hard not to move. "You probably spent every damn second I was gone telling her stories about what a horrible mother I am!"

"Would you shut up?!" if Brandi never said that again, it would still be too soon. "If you're a horrible mother, than _you_ are a horrible mother and no one made you that way! Since you're so frantic to have dad as a role model, than I guess you lived up to your expectations, didn't you? Like father, like daughter!"

A deep breath coursed through the room after this pronouncement, and judging by the way Brandi pursed her lips and narrowed her blazing eyes, she was taking a look at it from all angles. Mary crossed her arms over her chest, internally praying she would be able to keep herself in check a little longer, but it wasn't going to be easy. Brandi's paltry defense for her reprehensible behavior was stifling to the point where Mary felt she was having trouble breathing.

What had happened as so many years had gone by? Mary had always thought she was teaching her responsibility and hard work and commitment, and her efforts had fallen spectacularly short. Even Jinx had learned far more than her youngest daughter, something Mary thought would never come to pass.

In the absence of hurling epithets, Mary could almost sense the tension in the room fermenting, distilling into bubbles about to burst above everything on the exterior. There were so many underlying issues that Mary didn't know where to pick up, but the need to know where Brandi's head had been during the entire ordeal was still gnawing at her insides like a parasite.

Taking a cautionary step forward so there was about four feet between her and Brandi, Mary hissed in a low and menacing accent, like that of a snake slithering through the high grass.

"Tell me why you did it…" and even the hiss turned into an appeal. "Tell me why you went to him, why you stuck it out…with _him_," she didn't need to say James' name. "Scott, I could live with; I wouldn't trust him with my tooth fairy money, let alone however many thousand Peter lost, but I could get past it…" granting Brandi even a tiny bit of leeway. "But…Brandi…"

Even though the outrage slipped away briefly to make room for the disbelief, Brandi could not be influenced that Mary would ever empathize with her decisions.

"It wouldn't matter if I told you," she was flaring once more. "You'd _never_ approve; you never approve of _anything_ I do…"

"I draw the line at playing with illegal miscreants, Squish!"

"Because I am a _loser!_" she suddenly burst out, making Mary jump unexpectedly. "Because I'm no kind of daughter – you'll always be better! Because I'm no kind of mother – _you'll_ always be better!" emphasizing this time, wetness flying in all directions. "Because I thought, once dad stepped into the picture, it might be a chance for me to show someone – _anyone_ – that I was worth something! I didn't plan for him to be there, and I was scared as hell we were going to get caught, but I never knew him, Mary! He was yours – he was _always_ yours and I wanted a shot!"

"Doesn't it matter to you what he did to us?" Mary couldn't get past this; she'd been older than Brandi when James had walked out, but she knew the sort of toll it had taken on the family, on Jinx and on Mary. "You remember how we lived – you remember how mom was! You know that was his doing! He doesn't deserve second chances, Brandi!"

"Yeah, and neither do I!" she had a surprisingly swift comeback. "Do you know how many people I have lost just because I made stupid mistakes that they couldn't forgive? Raph and Mark and even you! You'll take all my transgressions to the grave!"

The abuse coming her direction was of no consequence to Mary, because the loathing still bubbling in her gut was now on behalf of another person – one who deserved to have his honor defended. Her features contorted with fury just thinking about how many openings he had given Brandi without ever turning her loose.

"_Peter_ stood by you!" her inflections were strong and forceful. "You screwed him over I don't know how many times and he's _never_ done _anything_ to you like you've done to him! You were damn lucky to have found someone who was willing to put up with all your nonsense and he is still putting up with it! So don't you stand here and tell me no one believes in you because Peter and Holly were sick over where you might've gone!"

She finished by jutting a finger in her sister's face, but Brandi smacked it out of the way with her nails. Mary was ready to give her a good hard shove, but she stopped herself just in time. Nonetheless, her fortitude was draining away by the second. When she became out-of-control, there was no trusting her, and beating Brandi to a pulp would solve nothing except to give Mary grim satisfaction.

Stuffing her hands into her pockets, she simply glared at Brandi, who took it upon herself to discount everything Mary had tried to force her to face.

"I can't do anything right!" still on that. "And dad was going to give me what I needed without any questions, and he wanted to find out what I'd been up to all these years, and I wanted him – I wanted him all to myself!"

"You can have him!" Mary hurled back, disgusted. "You and Scott can just shack up in prison together and I don't care if I ever see you again! Hope it's cozy in the state pen!"

"We didn't do anything they can lock us up for!" but Brandi sounded uncertain.

"Oh, you are in for a rude awakening!" Mary scoffed pitilessly. "Once the feds track you down, you are toast! You were aiding and abetting a fugitive, Squish – along with a whole string of other crimes I won't even bore you with. You will be fortunate to get off with community service, and you can forget making me your one phone call. I'm done jeopardizing my career for your shit!"

"You'd do it for _him!_"

"I arrested him the second he walked through the door!" the slight exaggeration was minor. "And I'd do it again! If I hear you blame your idiotic decisions on your pathetic self-esteem one more time I am gonna throw myself out the window!"

"Yeah, it's easy for you to say – it's easy for you to stand up to dad because as far as he's concerned you're perfect!" hands clenched into fists, Brandi pitched forward, almost like she pleading with Mary, but it was clear to see she was blaming her. "I spent two months trying to get to know him while he was getting the money for Peter and there was only _one_ thing he could talk about!"

Mary could feel her expression lighten, if only for a fraction of a second. While she was wholly unwilling to accept Brandi's feeble reasoning for why she'd camped out with their father, a tiny filter of remorse – and was it pride? – filled her heart. The feeling was gone as quickly as it had come on, and she knew it was lucky that her sister was so hot and bothered she didn't notice.

"I try to tell him about me and my job and Peter and Holly and everything I've made of myself even if it's nothing anybody cares about and who does he want to talk about?!"

By the waterlogged puddles in Brandi's eyes, Mary knew where this was going.

"YOU!" the scream was deafening and riotously unrestrained to the point where Brandi's voice cracked. "All he wanted to hear about was YOU! What's Mary doing? How's Mary? Is Mary okay? What are Mary's kids like? What's Mary's husband like? Mary taught you this, Mary made you this – according to him, everything good I ever turned out to be was all because of you!"

In a different time and place, Mary would've understood the sting this left for Brandi, but given everything she'd saddled the family with due to her passion for approval, she could not give in to any kind of compassion. If anything, she found the younger Shannon's attitude to be childish and far-far beneath her.

"Brandi, you are not a six-year-old!" it was important to match her pound-for-pound in the noise level, because she couldn't think she could get away with feeling sorry for herself any longer. "You have a husband that loves you and a little girl that needs you, and whatever crap I gave you over the years does not excuse you running to dad to feed your ego!"

"This from the woman who wallowed over him for forty years!"

"Well, I'm _done_ wallowing!" Mary declared with reckless abandon. "And, if you want proof, here's your proof!"

Without rational deliberation, Mary turned on her heel and tromped from the living room and back to the bedroom. Fueled by her vexation, likely to set off fireworks from the way her cheeks had begun to flare with such pain and distress, she threw open her closet doors so hard they banged against the outside wall. Shoving a whole row of hanging clothes to the side, she flattened herself to the ground, and with one good grope, she wrenched out the tin filled with the letters James had written her, dating back to February of 1978.

Not considering the ramifications or outcome in the least, leaving her closet in disorder, she stalked the direction she had come and held up the black tin with the faded rose-colored stripes for Brandi to see.

"Take them!" shaking the container so you could hear the parchment rattling on the inside. "You want dad so bad, you can have him! I might not have been fulfilled without him before, but he's come and gone and that's enough for me!"

Brandi made a derisive noise in her throat, but said nothing, though Mary noticed her eyes were on the bin.

"If you are willing to give up someone as sweet, someone as flawless as Holly…" for the first time since Brandi had arrived, Mary's throat went tight with tears, eyes stinging as they fought to escape. "…Then you're two peas in a pod, Squish. You and dad deserve each other."

The shorter had the nerve to mock this, "She's just a little girl; when she's older…"

"She's _not_ just a little girl…" unashamedly, Mary began to cry in earnest, something she couldn't ever remember doing in front of Brandi because she had always been expected to be the bigger person. "She's a princess. And Lizzie's a cowgirl and Ben's a superhero and they can be anything they want to be as long as they have people who buy into it; people who don't give up on them; people who show them if they shoot for the moon they can sail beyond the stars…"

Expertly ignoring her sister's heartfelt message, Brandi just shook her head.

"They'll only think that way for so long; they won't be little forever and you're missing it…" Mary's heart broke just thinking someone could brush that aside so carelessly. "You're missing everything for a guy who never wanted either of us; when I think about all I missed out on with Jamie, I don't want to let you do that with Holly…"

"UGH!" out of the blue, Brandi threw up her hands, sounding highly annoyed by Mary's flowery speech, tossing it off because it would mean facing reality. "Not everything is about you and _Jamie!_" the way she said his name was revolting. "You act like you're the only person who's miscarried – the only person who lost something!"

Vile revulsion overcame Mary in no time flat, "You really are a selfish bitch…!" and the war continued so vehemently that neither sister heard the back door open.

"And you're living in some fantasy!" Brandi hypothesized. "The world is not some flawless pretty painted picture just because our kids are in it! It's nasty and rude and you and I and everyone else need all the help we can get, even if it's from dad!"

"These kids are as close to flawless as you'll ever get! They mess up, but they're your future!"

"You think these kids are _flawless?" _Brandi was in shock. "Miscarriage addled your brain! Holly is great, but she is not flawless! She whines all the time…"

"She's _three!"_

"And you've got one that's deluded thinking he's the next Superman and Lizzie's a scaredy cat!"

If ever there was a moment Mary was going to hit her, it was then and there, and she actually flung herself forward, but a loud, far more powerful tone than either was anticipating sang out above their debate.

"HEY!"

Whipping around, Mary saw Ben standing in the kitchen, and before she could absorb what he must've heard, he clued her in without meaning to.

"Lizzie's my sister; don't you say that about her!"

Brandi was visibly horror-struck that her nephew had walked in on them and been privy to what she'd said, but Mary's main concern was getting him out of the dispute. Deep down though, she couldn't help the contentment mingling with shock that he was so fiercely defending of Lizzie.

"Ben, go back outside," Mary managed before she lost it.

"You take back what you said about Lizzie!" Ben ordered, looking nearly as pissed as his mother, no indulgence in his face even though it was his aunt he was speaking to. "She is not a scaredy cat!"

"Ben, I mean it. Go outside," but Mary was careful not to sound like she was mad at him for giving Brandi what for. "I will take care of Aunt Brandi."

"She was mean to Lizzie!" he protested.

"Yes, she was," Mary would not argue. "I will handle it. Please go outside."

Displeased and still ready to raise his fists, Ben grumbled back to the door and marched through it, not before giving it a good hard slam before departure.

But, Mary had-had enough. There was no reasoning with Brandi. There was nothing to be done. She was beyond assistance. Insulting the kids was the last straw; whatever change had overcome her in the last few years was startling and nearly eternal, but Mary wouldn't stand for it. She was done.

"Get the hell out of this house," there was no room for concession. "I don't ever want you showing up here again. My kids are not a punching bag for you to take out your deplorable self-respect on. How dare you call them names – they're five and they're miles ahead of you."

"Yep…" Brandi whispered, still clinging to a shred of dignity. "Mary's perfect kids, just like dad assumed…"

Her rage broke, "GET OUT!"

"Go to hell!"

"GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

In a fit of fury, Mary hurled the can of letters she'd still been holding across the room at Brandi's retreating back. It missed smacking her and injuring her as badly as Mary wanted her to hurt; instead, it smashed open on the hardwood, denting the lid and scattering the aged letters all over the floor. The front door slammed shut in her sister's wake and Mary, withered to pieces for the third or fourth time in just a few days, sunk to her knees knowing she needed to clean up before anyone came back inside and saw the damage.

She was bawling as she tried to gather the remains of the notes, eyes catching words like 'sweetheart' and 'a million kisses' and there were pictures too, which she did her best to ignore. Heart wobbling dangerously on a string, she blinked past the face of a younger Jinx and a plump baby Brandi, admiring the pink flowered stationary that James' earliest writings were penned upon.

So consumed in her grief, she didn't hear the return of Ben's voice.

"Do…do you need…do you need help…mama?"

She pretended not to be alarmed at his appearance, nor the fact that he'd called her 'mama' which was something that was usually reserved for Lizzie. Instead, she flashed him a watery, pseudo-smile from where he stood just on the other side of the island.

"Oh, no buddy…" a sniffle as the tears continued to run; she couldn't have gotten rid of them even if she'd tried. "I…I've got…"

But, then she recalled how she'd downplayed his heroics earlier in the day, and knew now was the moment to allow him to play savior.

"…Actually, that would be nice," she settled on. "Would you help me put these back?" motioning toward the tin.

Hurrying forward, Ben was diligent in following the direction, scooping up as many letters and snapshots as he could, stuffing them where they belonged without really looking at them. His eyes were for Mary, as this was not a boy who often witnessed his mother shedding tears. Mary kept trying to grin, to show that it was no big deal, but since he'd already heard Brandi's ranting, it was unlikely he would buy into it.

Once they'd finished, Mary inclined onto her knees so they were eye-to-eye.

"Thanks, Bullet."

Ben averted his gaze to the floor, drawing rings with his toe and looking melancholy.

"You don't have to call me Bullet," he said quietly, demoralizing though it might be. "My name's Ben."

Saddened that she'd taken away his beloved alter ego, Mary knew it was up to her to fix whatever damage his confidence had suffered before he was as old as Brandi and beyond repair.

"Oh, no…" she shook her head slowly. "Hmm mmm. You'll always be Bullet to me. You want to know why?"

Ben just shrugged.

"Because only a superhero would do the right thing even when it's scary, even when he might get in trouble – like you just did with Aunt Brandi for Lizzie. I'm very proud of what you said."

"I wanted to say more," he admitted now that he knew he was in the clear. "She made you cry."

"I can take it, Ben. Thanks for coming to my rescue. I couldn't have done it without you."

That little face stared up at her, azure eyes identical to that of his father's and even his grandfather's, the cheeks and chin, eyelashes and eyebrows exactly as they'd been on the day he'd looked into his mother's face for the very first time.

And then, thoroughly stunning Mary, he put two soft, tentative little arms around her neck. Her lips parted in awe, and she wasn't so startled that she couldn't return the embrace, though was careful not to push her luck and drag him into her clasp. His gesture did nothing to help the tears, and Mary somehow found it in her to say something before they truly took over.

"What's this for?"

Ben's voice was small, meek even, "I'm sorry I pretended I could fly."

Mary bit her lip so hard she almost tasted blood run over her flesh and onto her teeth, but she was numb to the rancid tang and piercing nibble.

"Benny, you weren't pretending…" she told him because she knew he'd had genuine faith in his abilities. She didn't break down completely, but knew a second unleash wasn't far away. "And, I was just upset – and I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself – but I never should've shouted…"

"I won't try anymore…"

Squeezing him tight now, Mary shut her eyes, feeling wetness dribble out from between her eyelashes.

"Just not inside, okay?" And then, in an attempt to show she was not just being a curmudgeon, "I don't want you to get injured. I love you, Ben," as if her high regard explained it.

Her son reciprocated, "I love you too. You know why I wanted to be a superhero in the first place, mom?"

Mary wagged her head behind him, never wanting to let him go, and then wondered how many more reasons she would have to choke up in just one day.

"Because it's the closest I'm gonna get to being as brave as you."

XXX

**A/N: I've probably made Brandi completely unredeemable, which was hard for me! But, I went there so there's nothing I can do about it now!**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: As long as I have one person reading, I'll keep posting! Thanks to those who are!**

XXX

Marshall was learning very quickly just how taxing everlasting ferocity could be. Although he had his own share of reasons for wanting to turn his back on James and Brandi, whatever disappointment he harbored was nothing stacked up against Mary's. By early afternoon and with much wheedling from her husband, she fell asleep in his lap while they were in the middle of playing Chutes and Ladders on the bed with Lizzie. She seemed subdued once her mother could no longer play, snoring softly on her father's chest, but Marshall assured her they could carry on well enough. Ben, happy to be occupied with the blaring television, hadn't been interested in joining their game.

It shouldn't have been shocking to Marshall any longer that Brandi was capable of such emotional harm, but after hearing the sort of things she'd thrown at Mary's feet, he was hard-pressed not to want to go a few rounds with her himself. But, at the moment he was content to focus on the fact that Mary was at peace with her subconscious and nothing else, not having to expend much effort to keep Lizzie quiet. She knew when noise was a bad choice.

"Why's mama so tired?" but she was a sharp little girl, even as she moved her piece to the correct square.

"It's complicated, Lizzie Lou, but she's had a lot going on lately. We'll let you in on it soon enough," or Mary would. "It's making her a little touchy."

"Is that why she was yelling this morning?" Lizzie blushed with the accusation, playing like she was afraid to look directly at her father.

"I suppose you could say that," Marshall wouldn't deny it, running his hand over Mary's hair without thinking. "It's not so uncommon for people to act angry when they're actually upset or sleepy."

"What's mama have to be upset about?" his daughter wondered innocently. "Your turn, daddy."

Groping for the dice was no easy feat when Marshall was trying to keep from waking Mary, even though his arm was growing tingly from all the blood rushing into his muscles. Nonetheless, he would not disturb his wife for anything, and gave a half-hearted throw once he managed to close his fingers around the tiny dotted cubes.

"Move five for me, would you?" Marshall requested, knowing Lizzie was less apt than Ben to cheat when directing a marker that was not her own. "Count out loud…" his little girl needed to work on her numbers anyway.

"One…two…" she said each number as the little plastic man hopped along each square. "Three…four…"

"One more; keep going…"

"Five," this landed Marshall clear on a chute, which prompted a devious smirk to form on Lizzie's face. "You have to slide down."

"Afraid you're right," the man gave a shrug. "You're beating the pants off me, missy."

He was half-hoping that Lizzie's winning streak and the concentration required to count to five would distract her from the question she'd asked about Mary's ever-changing moods, but she could be as single-minded as her brother sometimes. Licking her lips and the retrieving the dice so she could take her turn, she diverted right back to the inquiry she'd begun without a second thought.

"What's mama so upset about that it's making her shout so much and go to sleep when the sun is still out?"

Well, the sun being out was a stretch; it was their fourth or fifth grey day in a row. Marshall had started to wonder if they were ever going to see the fiery mass that provided warmth and light ever again. Nonetheless, he understood the meaning behind his child's reasoning, and knew that if his partner were in charge, she wouldn't skirt around the truth for another minute. Contrary to Holly's upbringing, she had never wavered in whether or not she wanted to give Ben and Lizzie as much as they can handle. What with WITSEC always being a secret, she sought to provide as much information as possible in every other area of their lives.

"Well…" still, he couldn't stop himself from hesitating, though he knew he had to go on. "You know how we've been trying to figure out where Aunt Brandi is, right?"

"Is she gone forever?" Lizzie sounded horror-struck and tearful at the possibility, but Marshall could safely refute that theory.

"No, she got back this morning actually," how he and Mary had managed to conceal such an episode from even one of their children, he'd never know. "Just in time to see Holly get out of the hospital. But, where she was…"

Unexpectedly, the inspector was saved by the bell quite literally when a three-note chime sounded throughout the otherwise quiet house. Worried about Mary stirring, he quickly checked to see if she had been interrupted, but she dozed on. The real question was how Marshall was going to relieve himself of his position without waking her all by himself.

Fortunately, Ben took care of that for him. Although he and Mary often scolded the boy when he traipsed to answer the door alone, from what Marshall could gather, the visitors had let themselves in, either because the locks were undone or because they had their own key. It was hard not to feel apprehensive when guests showed up these days. Between Rachel, James, and Brandi, the Mann-Shannons weren't exactly batting a thousand.

But, good fortune had struck at last, and Marshall knew it to be so when he heard his son's delighted call warble up to the rafters.

"Papa Seth!"

"Hey – Private Benjamin! Ten-hut, solider!"

Marshall smirked, as he could picture Ben, normally so disruptive and rowdy, falling right into line and saluting his grandfather with the best of them. He must've done it up to Seth's standards, because not long after his drill command, the older gentleman called him off.

"At ease!"

There was the faint sound of chuckling coming from the living room, which likely meant Seth was getting hugs in, with help from Laura no doubt. Lizzie turned to Marshall with a cheerful grin on her face as well, all thoughts of her mother's problems forgotten.

"Is Nana here too?" she practically squeaked trying to keep her voice down to contain her fervor.

"I would imagine," Marshall nodded toward the closed door. "They'll be disappointed something awful if you don't say hi."

This was enough sanction for Lizzie, who dropped the dice and scampered off the bed in no time flat. It was auspicious for both her and the grandparents that she did not have far to go. As soon as she barreled through the bedroom door, Seth came striding up the hall holding Ben aloft in his arms, Laura directly behind. The elder man looked pleased as punch, Marshall just hoping they would give him enough time to extract himself from underneath the slumbering Mary and shut the door.

"Nana-Nana!" Lizzie bleated, obviously forgetting that her mother needed her rest. "I missed you so-so much!"

"Well, I missed you too, dearie…" leave it to the woman who had spawned Marshall to take her usual 'dear' and turn it around into something still more affectionate for the children. "Give Nana a great big hug, now…"

Marshall couldn't see what was going on, mostly because he had jumped to an abrupt halt when Mary made a grunting sound after he slipped his arm from beneath her, magician style. Waiting for a moment to see if she would rouse, he came to the conclusion she was definitely down for the count. Relieved, but also disconsolate that she was worn out enough that she would succumb to napping, he left her where she was with her hands folded beneath her cheek and ventured out to meet his parents.

"Hi…" he whispered, slipping the hatch shut with a would-be-welcoming smile. "I didn't expect you for another hour or so…" checking his watch.

By this point, Ben was receiving quite the cacophony of tickles from Seth, giggling mirthlessly from where he was trapped in his arms. Lizzie was tugging at Laura's pant leg, clearly hankering for some attention, the likes of which only Nana could give.

"I couldn't wait another second," Seth declared, as though he were the impatient kindergartener. "Unless we're interrupting something…"

Knowing Seth, he wouldn't have changed his plans if he'd known beforehand that Mary and Marshall were tied up. He would've been right in the thick of things.

"No, nothing…" Marshall half-lied, hunching his shoulders. "Brandi stopped by this morning, is all…"

Laura bypassed this without even blinking, but Seth looked nosy. Fortunately, he had his grandson to distract him from needling his youngest.

"Papa, did dad tell you that he's planning a _secret_ gift for me?"

"I hadn't heard…" Seth played along, shifting his focus back onto Ben, though his eyes kept darting back to Marshall and the closed bedroom door. "What sort of secret gift? Are you keeping your eyes peeled for clues, solider? That's how you badger a secret out of someone…"

"Isn't that just like Papa Seth to give you ideas about snooping for Christmas presents?" Laura clucked her tongue disapprovingly, rumpling Ben's shirt from where she stood.

Lizzie was not about to be ignored, "Nana, can I show you what I wrapped for mama and daddy? Delia said I did a real good job."

"Oh, I'll just bet you did," the woman was genuine in her congratulations. "If you give me just one moment, I would be happy to look…" Marshall wondered what the hold-up was going to be, until his mother trained her gaze on her son. "Dear, where's Mary?"

Glad that Seth was busy teaching Ben what to look for in hidden holiday bounty, Marshall felt he could speak more freely.

"Trying to relax," he intoned, hoping he sounded offhand with Lizzie listening below them. "Which hasn't proven easy."

"Things didn't go well with her sister?"

Marshall shook his head, "No. 'Not going well' would be the understatement of the century."

This earned him a sympathetic nod, "Poor thing," Mary wouldn't have entirely appreciated the endearment behind this statement, as she forever claimed she didn't want to be doted upon, and Marshall knew his mother would've never dared say such a thing in front of her. "Is there anything I can do?"

The man wished he had the perfect, all-fix solution for his wife, and that Laura could be the one to put it in motion. While she and Mary had always gotten along well enough, they had never been thick as thieves – they were just too different. Laura had always operated under the assumption that Mary preferred Seth; their likenesses were far more similar, after all. But, Marshall knew Mary would be glad to bring Laura into the fold the minute the acceptance presented itself.

But, "I doubt it," was what he said, unsure how Laura could supply assistance when it came to the melodrama provided by James and Brandi. "She's gonna head back to the jail tomorrow to say her goodbyes…" he wasn't looking forward to that. "And, maybe by then we'll be able to put things behind us."

Laura shook her head, "And just before Christmas too."

Marshall hadn't thought of it, but he realized the woman was right. The holiday was on Tuesday, which meant they only had Sunday before Christmas Eve on Monday. Then there was Holly's birthday on Wednesday, an event Marshall had once cherished, but couldn't say he would experience the same sensation on this go around, not knowing how things would go down with Brandi back in town.

But, waving a hearty, probably final farewell to James on Sunday before he was shipped back to New Jersey was going to a tall order. Marshall was already figuring that Mary would want to cross such a bridge alone, though he longed being there to help her through it.

"Thanks for offering, mom, but I think keeping the kids busy will be the biggest help you can give us," at least Marshall could be honest about that. "They love Delia, but Mary tends to feel like she's putting her out if she asks her to hang out with them too often…"

But, before he could go into further detail on this front, his partner proved his good faith efforts for keeping her asleep were futile. Mary emerged from the bedroom, puffy-eyed but putting up her classic façade. Her appearance even brought Ben's animated storytelling to a close, the whole group stopping to stare as if they'd been waiting for her all along.

"Hey…" her voice was thick, but the way she was pretending to be perfectly fine made Marshall ache. "Someone forgot to tell me there was a party…"

Seth, alone, was able to turn it on right away. Ben still looked slightly shrunken in his mother's presence; while they'd made up after that morning, his sense of self was still slightly battered – learning you couldn't fly was taking a big hit. Lizzie, forever the worrier, looked at Mary with very round eyes, much like her father.

Only Laura could appear nonplussed, and Seth was always one to herd right past anything touchy-feely and get to the heart of the matter.

"Hey there, doll…" his grin was infectious even to Marshall; it was true what Laura said; no one but Mary caused such a drastic change in him. "I was starting to think we were going to have to stake out a mission to track you down…"

Mary gave a shaky laugh as she passed him a one-armed hug, "Nope, here I am. Gambling the day away."

This was an ironic choice of words, Marshall thought, but at least his father didn't bring it up.

"Ah, I'd say you're entitled to a kick back now and then," and there were very few times he approved of such things. "You've been a busy gal."

Now the woman's laugh was bitter, "Tell me about it." And then, sharpening her politeness, "Hi Laura. It's good to see you," there was no mistaking how her timbre switched to an official, obligatory nature.

"Yes, dear," the other reciprocated in kind. "You as well."

The awkward silence came too quickly for Mary. You knew you were in trouble when even the kids picked up on the tension, especially with their doting grandparents in the house. Marshall glanced from his mother to his wife and back again and finally at Seth as if expecting him to take care of the anxiety that radiated between them. Although, it was true that he could sometimes add to the strain rather than decrease it with his no-nonsense attitude.

"Well…" Mary was the one who finally severed the strings, which shouldn't have surprised Marshall. "Looks like my whacked-out family is causing trouble even from a distance," apparently, she was attributing the quiet from that. "If there's one thing you can count on the Shannons for, it's botching the good times for everyone else."

Now Ben and Lizzie looked confused, but Marshall stepped in, "Mare, come on…" for once, he abandoned the pretense he usually put on in front of the kids. "No one needs to discuss that right now…"

"Like hell," and then she slipped up and cursed, but took his advice to heart. Angling her lids toward her in-laws and crossing her arms, "Sorry. Forget it."

For some reason, Mary's eye caught Ben once she tried to brush things under the rug, and he looked oddly more cognizant than Lizzie, like he identified with his mother. Mary didn't know if Marshall had said something to him or not, but she would bet money on it. It was Lizzie who was clueless.

Fortunately, Seth had allowed the lack-of-conversation to go on long enough. Giving Ben a rough slap on the back, he got back to gift preparations.

"Come with me, solider," jerking his head to the living room. "Secret gift or not, I've got plenty I need unloaded from my suitcase. What do you say you give me a hand?"

"Are they for me?" he wanted to know, covetous to a fault.

"Hmm…" Seth feigned coyness. "I think we may have forgotten yours on the plane…"

Ben was not fooled, "Did not!" he squawked, mouth falling open just in case his grandfather wasn't teasing. "You're a fibber!" pointing the finger of accusation.

"Oh ho, a fibber, am I?" but Seth's laugh was genial. "We'll just see about that."

"Can I help you too Papa?" Lizzie got in on the action, now that her grandmother seemed somewhat fixated on Mary, who was beginning to wish she'd just stayed locked in her room with the way things were going. "I won't peek! Promise!"

"Just like a true Major," he praised, reverting to the military nicknames again. "They never welsh on their promises."

Lizzie grinned, "You come too, daddy?"

Marshall had intentions of staying with Mary, of telling her while his parents were busy with the kids that she needn't put on an act, that they would understand. He was sure Laura had probably spoken to Seth by this point, and he wouldn't say anything designed to induce shame for however she felt about James, and even Brandi. While he could guess that the result would just be an argument with his better half, he was willing to take the risk. In the near future, he was going to have to talk to her anyway about what was going to happen the next day when she said bon voyage to her father.

"You know, I might just be a minute…" he started to say, but Laura disrupted his objective.

"You go ahead, dear," she used that same matter-of-fact voice that she always did, but with the twist of high influence. "I have a little something I needed to go over with Mary."

Seth didn't look taken aback in the least, but Mary certainly did, and Ben wasn't far behind.

"Like what?" he butted in.

"Oh…it's Christmas, Benny…" a mysterious Nana could be exasperating, especially one that topped off her statement with a wink like Laura did. "You never know what's going on. I may just have a few gifts I need a mother's opinion on…"

Mary smelled a trap, but there was no way out of it. Ben had taken the bait, and Seth was already carting him back up the hall, Lizzie right behind them. Marshall stayed behind, like he wasn't sure which direction to set off – both his mother and his daughter had told him to engage himself in holiday preparations, but there was no denying that Laura's request to speak to Mary alone was conspicuous. They were always friendly and civil, but nothing beyond that.

"Marshall, please…" but the female parent could be stern when she needed to. "This isn't espionage," she'd been around Marshals for too long. "Run along," like he was still a little boy. "We won't be a minute."

Casting one last look at Mary, the man finally did as he was being told; knowing Lizzie would start to miss him if he wasn't there to scrutinize every bizarrely-shaped package that Seth pulled from within his baggage.

His footsteps seemed to disappear rather quickly in Mary's mind, as though he were there one minute and vanished the next. This left her by herself with Laura, feeling very self-conscious because she knew her hair was tangled and her clothes crooked from where she'd drifted off on the bed. Nothing she could do about it now, the younger woman did her best to buck up and act aloof, which was something she used to do very well.

"Let's go in here…" she stood aside in the open doorway of the bedroom. "Ben tends to eavesdrop."

Taking the suggestion for what it was, Laura proceeded into the rumpled room on the heels of her daughter-in-law, which gave her the opportunity to shut the door once they were both inside. This was ominous to Mary, who knew it was silly of her to be nervous, because Laura was always lovely and never over-stepped her bounds. Still, with the kind of emotional state she was in lately, there was no telling how she'd react to whatever was coming. She knew Marshall had inherited his sensitive side from his mother, and she'd had enough cosseting to last a lifetime.

"So…" maybe she could just take her at her word. "You have a…question about presents for the twins?" she asked. "You need help on sizes or something?"

Mary moved to the bed to clean up the unfinished game of Chutes and Ladders so she wouldn't have to look at the other woman.

"Oh…little of this, little of that…" Laura was playing games too, Mary was sure of it. "I got Lizzie an old-fashioned tea set, and I thought she could share it with Holly," it was exactly what she'd told Marshall at the airport.

"Oh…" Mary breathed, chucking the plastic figurines into the box. "That was nice of you to think of her. The girls share pretty well; it shouldn't be a problem…"

"Is there anything you think Holly would like?" Mary was still waiting for the boom, knowing deep in her heart that Christmas treasures were not what Laura wanted to talk about. "I'd love to brighten her holiday any way I can; I know she's been through quite a lot lately…"

Unexpectedly touched by the generosity, Mary tried to throw a grateful smile over her shoulder as she continued to busy herself with straightening up.

"That's very kind," she reiterated. "But, Holly's doing much better; she should be here this afternoon. I'm sure she'll have enough presents to last her…" charitable though Laura's offer was, she didn't want her to feel any sense of obligation to her downtrodden niece. "She's got a dad that thinks she hangs the moon, so…"

It was as though Mary had subconsciously broached the subject she had meticulously been avoiding. Mention of Peter dragged both topics to the forefront – dads worshipping their little girls, and the absence of Brandi. Pausing in her clean up, she waited to see if Laura was going to delve in the rest of the way. The board was folded and back in the box; Mary was just about to put the lid on when she proved that, different though she was from Seth, she too could be frank when she wanted.

"I don't imagine you have much time to spare for shopping these days," she speculated. "Fielding your sister and dealing with your father is a full-time-job. With Ben and Lizzie on top of it."

Mary's stomach wrenched just as she had anticipated it would. Bringing her family drama into Laura's perfect circle, the photo-in-the-frame family that Marshall had grown up with, was wrong on so many levels. The Manns and the Shannons were from two entirely separate hemispheres, with the Alperts straddling the line somewhere in the center. Critical Mass indeed.

"Well, I'm…I'm…" any minute now she was going to have to lock eyes with her mother-in-law, and she was afraid she would cry when she did. "I'm…finished 'fielding' my sister," using her words and hoping she meant them. "And, my father will be out of here tomorrow, so there's that."

"Mary, you really don't have to put on this show for me…" like mother, like son. "No one would blame you for traveling a rough road less than gracefully…"

"I don't want you to worry about me," Mary tried to shrug it off, leaving the novelty of Chutes and Ladders where it was and turning around, hands on the bed behind her. "Really. Don't let what's going on with me spoil your Christmas with the kids…"

"I hardly think it would spoil it," at least she was honest. "These things happen…"

Now Mary had to scoff, "Yes. These things do happen, but they happen to _me_. Not to you and Seth and Travis and Carson – not even to Marshall if I can help it," the last thing she wanted was for Laura to think she was burdening her youngest, most favored son. "You all grow from greener grass. I'm from the other side of the tracks."

Her metaphoric analogy did not seem like it was what really upset Laura, although it was those words that made her cock her head to one side, hazel-shaded eyes turning distraught, downcast by Mary's view of her situation.

"I am not here to judge you," her lack of excitement was almost chilling; Marshall was the only person Mary knew who could be so calm about something so immense. "You have no control over other people, and from what Marshall tells me, this is a tough thing for you to reconcile…"

"I raised my sister," Mary's tone was biting, almost daring Laura to say she wasn't responsible somehow, clenching her teeth in the process. "Not my mother – she was a drunk. Not my father – he was gone. I raised her. She turned out the way she did because of me."

"And what seven-year-old would you trust with a baby without expecting them to make a few mistakes?"

Laura's remark was a startling one – it was telling Mary that even if she _could_ be blamed, she _couldn't_ be blamed all at the same time. The distinction was disorienting and Mary's head was too cloudy to work out all the details. What was striking her most forcefully was that Laura could remember how old Mary had been when James had walked out, while James himself had not.

"Mary, I am not here to change your mind – how you feel about Brandi and your father is your own business," this was a mantra she had maintained all her life. "But, I implore you, not for me but for yourself – let Marshall help you."

Again, the blonde was caught off guard. How did Laura know she had been less than receptive of Marshall's advances? Actively pushing him away was a thing of the past, but she was definitely keeping him at arm's length, not because she feared him seeing her vulnerable, but because she didn't want him corrupted or sucked in to the disaster that was the Shannons.

"Marshall…" she whispered, feeling outside herself as she had this conversation. "Marshall…he…he has been helping me…"

"Don't ever doubt how much he loves you, dear…"

"I love him too," Mary's nose stung and her eyes burned as she stated such a thing so easily. "But, my life…he's better than all that; I _hate_ my father for what he did to me and my mother…" she didn't mention Brandi. "But, tomorrow is it and I can't predict how I'll react; for him to think I still want him…"

"No one can predict something like that," Laura's advice was sage. "Marshall respects your choices; he really does," Mary wasn't so sure. "You just have to let him in. He'd never belittle you for being both angry and in some kind of mourning."

Underneath, Mary was well aware that this woman's wisdom could not be disputed. Though she'd shied away from it for years and years, when she finally let the chips fall where they may, she always felt better once she welcomed Marshall into her fold, chaotic or not. He was such a soothing, steady presence, and Laura wasn't wrong; he never criticized her feelings or ever even gave any indications that he disagreed. All he wanted was to be there – to simply be there.

"My sister really is a mess…" Mary felt a tear trickle from her eye, some unconscious longing needing to point out the facts. "I'm…I mean, it may be stupid, but I'm embarrassed for Marshall to see her the way she is…"

"But, you are not your sister," Laura reminded her as the second swiped at her damp eyelashes. "And from what he tells me, you have gone above and beyond for her. It's time you allowed someone to go above and beyond for you."

The older woman's insistence took Mary back to a day long before this one, during another instance in her life where she had refused to allow Marshall to do everything he could for her. There had been many such occurrences – when she'd lost Jamie and had been unable to admit she'd wanted children, when Brandi had been arrested years back, when she'd been abducted and had neglected to speak about her experience.

But, this one was closer to her heart, and it had been a long time since she'd allowed herself to dwell on it so intensely.

"You know…there was this time…" something in her wanted to share it with Laura. "It was about…I don't know, maybe a month or two after the twins were born…" she'd really lost track of time in those days. "And, we'd only had both of them home about a week, because Lizzie had to stay in the NICU for awhile…"

"I remember."

"And I was just…" the memory was becoming stronger and stronger. "I was so exhausted; I was trying so hard to give my all to the kids, but I was running out…"

"I can understand."

"And, all Marshall wanted to do was help."

That was all he ever wanted to do.

"Back then, I was worried he'd think I was an incompetent mom if I let him step in…" the thought seemed ridiculous now, and Laura was about to show her just how outlandish it was.

"And he never thought that…" placing a hand on her forearm and smiling softly. "Just like he doesn't think you're an incompetent daughter or an incompetent sister."

Or, with any luck, an incompetent wife.

_The crying had become almost asphyxiating, like two hands clamped hard and rigidly against Mary's throat. She fought for breath, for precision, only to have the fingers tighten against her gullet once more. It was kicking her legs against the ocean tide and repeatedly failing to break the surface of the water – climbing the rope in gym class only to lose her grip and plummet to the floor, gaining rug burns all the way down._

_At first, she'd left the nursery lights off and then, after a half an hour, had thought maybe her miniscule babies were afraid of the dark and had flipped on a lamp. But now, the illumination was giving her a raging headache against the screaming sirens that occupied the cribs, and so she was swept in shadow once more._

_Mary approached Lizzie's bed as composedly as she could, as she concerned herself with her far more than she did Ben because she was so impossibly tiny. She didn't look as though she belonged in such an enormous sleeping quarters, like she was small enough to slip through the bars and fall onto the floor. Wailing up a storm, flailing against her blankets, her tiny hands seemed to reach for her mother even though she probably didn't know Mary from the milkman._

"_Come on, baby…" she murmured, lifting her from her confines and cradling her against her breast._

_Frustration welled almost immediately when Lizzie began to root around for milk. Mary had never once tried to breastfeed her or Ben – it had been impossible when they were in the NICU, but it still made her feel like the world's most inferior parent, particularly where her daughter was concerned. Ben had given up within a week or two, but Lizzie's internal system still wanted her mother's milk, and Mary's heart sank every time she ferreted and found nothing._

"_I'm sorry, Liz…" her voice was choking and desperate. "I don't have any…"_

_Equally frustrated, Lizzie let out her loudest screech yet, forcing Mary to cluck her tongue and quiet her. She ached for Ben, still in his crib and not being held, but nestling both at once was almost always asking for a disaster. She'd spent far too much time hoisting both into her arms since they'd been born, and it had wreaked havoc on her yet-to-be-healed-C-section stitches. Her belly still throbbed with discomfort even though the surgery had been weeks before. Not embracing both her babies at once was excruciating._

"_I'll be there in a second, Benny…" she claimed in an almost sing-song sort of voice, which was nauseating. "Mama's here; I'm right here…" stepping over so her dissatisfied son could at least see her face. "You be my patient boy…" now she was coaxing._

_Coaxing a newborn. She was losing her mind._

_She wasn't likely to find it, even when Marshall knocked on the nursery door. Mary whirled around with Lizzie still in her arms, infuriated at the sight of him. He was always so serene and unruffled, and right now it made her unquestionably annoyed. Their house had become a circus and he behaved as if it were all a semi-interesting side-show._

_And she knew exactly what he was about to say. It did not endear her to him in the least._

"_I'm going to take Ben to our room…" this time, he didn't ask to assist, simply took charge. "He won't go to sleep if Lizzie's still crying; one is better than none…"_

_He was halfway into the room when Mary blocked his path – her and her miserable daughter._

"_I was just about to get to him," but her tone continued to warble and her tummy continued to pulsate; her arms were sore and her eyes were irritated with tiredness and despair. "Go back to bed. You have to go to work tomorrow."_

"_Mary, you can barely stand…" he felt badly pointing this out, but it was essential. "They're my kids too…"_

"_I'm their mother!" she burst, which was sure to escalate the situation to a dangerous level. "Me! I went through hell to get them here; it's my job to make sure I'm doing everything I can in the aftermath! I didn't slog through eight months for nothing and neither did they!"_

"_But Mary, this is not healthy…" still, Marshall would not become rattled. "I don't think you've slept in three days; I'm not just going to sit idly by…"_

_Bouncing the little girl, who only picked up in volume due to all the tension, Mary batted back, "She wants milk; I don't have any milk to give her!"_

"_She has a bottle; she'll adjust…"_

"_And he doesn't want any blankets, but he likes to watch the mobile...!" gesturing wildly at Ben with a free arm. "And she wants to be swaddled, but you can't use that green blanket because it itches!" Now that she was unloading, she might as well go all the way. "If Ben's wet, he won't stop screaming unless you change his whole outfit! Lizzie freaks out if you even unbutton her sleeper because she gets too cold!"_

"_Mary…"_

"_I can't remember it all!" and now she was crying too, a replica of her daughter, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks, her legs feeling like they were going to collapse beneath her. "I can't remember it and I can't mess up! I'm their mother! I waited too long to be their mother to just throw in the towel because I'm tired!"_

_What if she was resenting them? What if she doubted all that motherhood was cracked up to be? A disappointment of that degree would be too much to bear. But, the self-indulgent sob that escaped proved she was so perturbed by her new life because the adoration was there without any follow-through._

"_I love them so much…" she was one exhausted wreck. "But, how will they ever know it if I can't give them exactly what they need?"_

_At this, Marshall at least gave a sigh, shedding his composed persona for one moment. Without a word, he held out his arms and Mary, beaten and worn out, was forced to hand over the writhing Lizzie, who perhaps would not expect to suckle when she was with her father. Immediately, Mary sought to comfort Ben, but the absence of one baby put her in mind of just how tender her incision was. Doubling over in front of the crib, she tried to quell the sting before rescuing her son._

"_Your stitches again?" Marshall guessed as he swayed Lizzie side-to-side._

_Mary nodded, her face feeling hot and sticky from tears._

"_Picking up two babies doesn't do wonders for healing major abdominal surgery," he speculated. "But, some things can't be avoided. Listen…" he hoped Mary actually would. "Take Ben to our room and rock him in one of the basinets. He likes that…"_

_Mary had forgotten which baby it was who preferred the jostling._

"_You can lie down in there too; maybe catch a few winks."_

_But, Mary was too occupied in falling on her own sword to really take in what he was saying. Her mind was consumed with powerlessness and distaste of her own, sour failure. It was high time she admitted it, even as she leaned against the bars of Ben's crib trying to find her second wind._

"_I need help."_

_Leave it to Marshall to take something that was so epic for Mary and turn it into something perfectly ordinary. His tone was placid from over her hunched shoulders._

"_Don't we all?" he mused. "I don't want to do anything but lend a hand, partner," he insisted. "I don't care if you're fatigued or crabby or short-tempered. There is no one I would rather brave the rocky early roads with than you."_

_Kind as it was, it wasn't until her man finished his speech that Mary found the strength to right herself and start anew._

"_These are very lucky babies," he stated boldly, even as they yowled with the best of them. "They have the world's best mama."_

XXX

**A/N: My chapters are so long LOL. I wouldn't blame you if you got bored slogging through them.**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Onward and upward…**

XXX

It had become inconceivable for Mary to believe there could be any sort of bright spot in what had fast-become an extremely lackluster Saturday. She was hankering for some more sleep by five o'clock in the evening, which made her feel even more pitiful and gutless than she already did. Nonetheless, glorious wonders didn't always stay hidden in the shadows, and it was Holly who became the unexpected lightheartedness that Mary so desperately needed.

With Ben and Lizzie out for some afternoon fun with their grandparents, it was only Mary and Marshall in the house when Peter and Jinx came knocking. The inspector was even willing to forgo being suspicious of why her mother had tagged along – all she cared about was that Brandi was not with them, expertly ignoring Jinx's puffy, reddened eyes that were highlighted when she stepped into the living room.

"Better late than never, right?" Peter mused, trundling Holly over the threshold while Jinx pushed an empty wheelchair. The child's leg stuck out at an odd angle in its cast from where she was supported in Peter's arms, but it was plain that Holly didn't care. "Sorry; the folks at the hospital wanted to run a few more tests before they set her free…"

"Not at all, not at all!" Marshall's disposition was improved by the little girl's appearance as well. "Come right in! Ben and Lizzie and Delia did an excellent job sprucing up the living quarters yesterday; it's all squared away!"

"Really?" Peter didn't sound convinced, especially once he spotted Mary lingering the background, purposely keeping her distance as though he were hiding Brandi in a coat pocket. "Because honestly; there won't be any hard feelings if you back out now…"

"Nonsense," Marshall waved an airy hand without even consulting his wife, though she felt the same. "We are all set to have a bash for the holidays. Sound good to you, Miss Jolly Holly?" swooping in to lay a kiss on her cheek.

She giggled, tickled pink at being out of the pediatric ward and back on her feet, if not literally.

"Unc' Mar-sh-all – Gramma buy me bracelet," jingling the wrist on her right hand, Holly displayed a chain-link band full of sparkling charms. "See, pretty?"

Marshall fingered the jewelry appropriately, "Beautiful. Just like you," a sly simper. "What's the occasion, Gramma?" running all the letters together just like Holly did.

Jinx, in transpired, seemed involved in the way Mary continued to prowl out of the way, and Marshall would make a pretty safe bet that she was waiting for the moment they could have a moment alone to discuss Brandi. He had to admit he was rather curious about Jinx's opinion on her youngest daughter, considering how forceful she'd been with her that morning.

"Oh, just a little coming-home-present," Jinx was blasé, if not absentminded when she finally answered. "It was no trouble."

"I see," the more jubilant of the men left it at that. "Jinx, if you want to roll that baby into the alcove, there's a space blocked out next to the sofa in there – unless this girl's going to be needing it?" he appealed to Peter, referring to the wheelchair. 

"Nah, she can rest on the sofa out here," Peter was lenient. "So long as her leg's elevated," they were lucky Holly was still so young and small, as her cast was not quite so cumbersome when she was being carried around.

"I think we can manage that," Marshall was spreading enough good cheer for everyone, but it didn't seem to be reaching Mary or Jinx. "Let's get our guest of honor all set up…"

From her post, Mary watched as her husband carefully slipped his niece out of Peter's grasp with the most gentle of touches; her broken bones were never in any danger of being bent awkwardly; he really was quite something when he turned on the charm. In the back of her mind, she was glad for once that Lizzie was not present while her father was putting on such a show for Holly, because she was likely to turn jealous in a hurry.

"You will be up and running before we know it…" Marshall predicted, settling Holly up against some throw pillows before propping a few beneath the casing. "Won't be able to stop you from healing."

All this earned him was another bashful bat of her eyelashes, but it could not have been clearer that Holly was nothing short of overjoyed that she was well on her way to living a more standard existence. A week in the hospital had felt like an eternity, both to her and to her family. If it weren't for James and Brandi, they would've been right up against normalcy but as it was, that was not the case.

And, as though she were reading the woman's mind, Holly piped up from her station, Marshall taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

"Aun' Mary, guess what?"

The mention of her ill-mannered old aunt seemed to alert Peter to the fact that Mary was there; he hadn't seemed to notice her before the fact, what with Jinx boring into her with an obstinate stare. But, as the older woman was out of the room putting the wheelchair in its place, that gave Peter plenty of time to direct his focus onto his sister-in-law, and he immediately looked apprehensive.

To the innocent passerby, there was nothing to fear, for Holly looked alive and bright with glee, but he wasn't to be deceived.

Before Mary could respond, he jumped in, "Holly…pumpkin, I don't think Aunt Mary wants to guess…"

Well, she didn't really have to, so the point was moot.

"No…never mind…" she waved a half-hearted hand in Peter's direction before walking over and sitting upon the coffee table, Marshall shooting her covert looks the entire time. "Tell me. What?" all of her attention was for Holly.

The answer was exactly the one she'd estimated, "I see mommy! She come to see me before I leave! Mommy came and gave me big-big hugs!"

Swallowing hard in order to get past the massive lump in her throat, Mary shot Holly a smile not so different from the phony one she'd used with Ben when he'd helped her pick up her aging letters. Fortunately, it worked better on her niece than it had on her son, though Marshall and Peter saw through the whole thing.

"Good…" it was all she could think of to say that wouldn't make her start bawling or screeching. "Good. I'm so glad mommy came to visit."

A few days before, this still would've been true, but not anymore. Now, Mary couldn't help thinking that all of Brandi's fears that she was a bad influence on Holly were right on the money. She really was better off without her, and Mary was just glad the child was going to be under her roof for awhile so she could keep an eye on her.

"I miss her!" Holly informed everyone. "I miss her, but she said she never going away ever again! I see her all the time!"

Now it was Peter who made a show of grazing his shoes on the floor so he could pretend he hadn't heard the unwavering belief in his daughter's voice. Much as she had earlier in the day, Mary felt faint just thinking about what Peter had endured for Brandi. His head to be spinning five different directions and, clunky though it might be, Mary was even more positive of her decision to keep Holly now that Brandi had returned. She and Peter would have many things to hash out, and Holly didn't need to be present for the battle that was about to begin.

"Not before you see me, I hope," Mary gave a flighty chuckle to show the little girl she was jesting, if only on the outside. "I'd miss you if you weren't around too, Holls."

She smiled, "You write on my leg?"

"Huh?" Mary wasn't following.

"You write name on my leg – draw name!"

"She wants you to sign her cast," Peter chimed in. "She's gonna be her own walking yearbook before long."

Penning her name with lots of loops and drawings really wasn't Mary's style, although it sounded like this was what Holly expected. The plaster had already been decorated by two signatures, which looked like Peter's and Brandi's. Mary felt ill seeing the word 'mommy' there with several hearts and other decorations; the autograph took up most of Holly's knee. Peter's was more understated; a sprawl with a tiny handwritten note meant to provide encouragement, Mary guessed.

Knowing her niece was waiting and trying not to let the sight of Brandi's marks distract her, Mary gave a nod.

"Who's got a pen?"

Peter was quick on his feet, rummaging in a little pink satchel he'd carried inside along with Holly. From within, he pulled an entire package of Sharpies in varying colors.

"Mommy made a stop on her way to the hospital," he informed Mary as he handed over the markers. "Or, so I hear."

Less than thrilled that she would be writing her own John Hancock with a set of pens that Brandi had picked up; Mary still opened the parcel to select her color before deciding it was probably best to leave the decision to the patient.

"Which one, Holls?"

"Pink!" she squealed at once, at which point Mary could not help herself from making a face, though Holly didn't seem offended.

"Let's leave pink for Lizzie," the aunt suggested. "Why don't you pick another one?"

"Red!" Holly was fast. "Or yellow! Or green!"

"So basically, any other shade in the rainbow will do," Mary cut across her as she pulled forth a tint of crimson and plucked the cap off, the smell of the felt tip wafting up her nose almost immediately. "I can't promise anything fancy here…"

"We'll just leave that up to Uncle Marshall," the man had no shame when it came to embellishing with drawings and beautification; he would make Holly's cast a work of art.

"Maybe we should call you Aunt Marshall," Mary muttered under her breath, causing Holly to giggle feverishly as the woman pressed deep lines into the cast so the color would show up; the coating on the casing was rough and woven tightly together. "And I can be Uncle Mary. It would be more accurate, don't you think?"

Marshall chortled as he selected an array of colors, shaking his head, but saying nothing.

"Aun' Mary, you silly," Holly declared.

"Uh-huh…" a bit of sarcasm leaked through. "Silly is my middle name."

Following this commentary which no one, not even a three year old would buy, Mary and Marshall both set to work bedazzling the ornament that would be affixed to Holly's leg in the upcoming months. She sat very still and very properly, relishing the attention she was garnering and not about to ruin in by complaining or wiggling in her seat.

Marshall went to town, depicting bright yellow stars next to his name and including a bite-sized drawing of himself and Holly side-by-side, he in a police uniform, she with a giant pink bow in her hair. Again, Mary had to be impressed at his artistic ability, which she'd already been surprised by when he'd sketched the characters on the do-it-yourself balloons at the hospital. He was a man of many talents.

Mary kept hers simple, feeling the stares of Peter and Jinx and knowing she was going to be expected to have some kind of serious talk, and sooner rather than later. The question was, who wanted to bend her ear? Jinx or Peter? Or both?

"All right, Holls…" Mary stuck the lid back on her marker and sat back to admire her handiwork. "I'm done. What do you think?"

She'd used red and green to color in a small Christmas tree, which she topped off with a Star of David as a homage to Peter. Beneath it, she'd written, 'Mary Christmas, Jolly Holly. XOXO.' Being a toddler, Holly wouldn't understand the play on words, but she would recognize the four letters that represented her aunt's name, and that was more than enough.

"Tree…" she pointed with her nail. "See tree Aun' Mary drew, daddy?"

Peter stepped over for a better look, Jinx at his side.

"Aunt Mary is awfully clever," he decided with a slow, steady nod. "That looks fantastic."

"You're overselling it," the blonde went for a modest shrug. "It's Picasso over here who would be able to sell this thing for money when he's through," casting her thumb Marshall's direction.

"Yeah…" the change in Peter's tone could not have been more evident. "I was wondering if I could talk to Picasso for a minute…"

And the minute he asked, Jinx leapt in with both feet, "Yes, darling…" her voice was raspy, but determined. "I wanted to speak to you too before the kids get back. Do you think we could…?" motioning toward the back hallway.

Marshall was agreeable as he overheard the discussion, and even took care of occupying Holly so they could confer without her being privy and losing her merriment over having seen Brandi. Slipping the markers he'd been using back into their package, he folded his arms over his chest and cast his niece a look of mock-seriousness – a look that was still ensured he would get whatever he needed, because pleasing Uncle Marshall was the be-all, end-all.

"If I illustrate anything else here, there won't be room for Ben and Lizzie to write their names," he theorized. "Tell you what. I hear that movie that you love – the Rupunzel one – is on TV tonight. What do you say I grab you some milk and cookies from the kitchen and we'll watch?" this gave him a chance to speak to Peter while the film was getting started.

Holly's tongue poked between her teeth in anticipation, but she wanted to make sure she wasn't hoarding anything meant for someone else.

"There enough for Santa?"

"Oh, yes," Marshall bobbed his head. "There will be more than enough milk and cookies for Santa. Don't you worry."

With that, he patted her good leg and stood up, accompanying Peter to the kitchen, but not before he flipped on the television to the proper channel, Holly looking perfectly relaxed right where she was. Despite how hesitant she was, Mary knew this was her cue to get moving as well, and she begrudgingly left her place on the coffee table and followed Jinx back to the twins' bedroom, figuring that if they were going to have some kind of heart-to-heart, she could at least finishing cleaning up the mess in there while they were at it.

At the refrigerator, Marshall almost tried to offer Peter a beer, knowing if it were him he would be needing one by now. Fortunately, he caught himself just in time to peruse the other beverage options while setting out the milk for Holly.

"Can I get you something?" the taller man asked, head still buried in the shelves.

"I think I'm good…" Peter didn't require sustenance, it seemed, and when Marshall turned around he was already emptying the cookie jar onto a plate.

"Those might be a little stale…" Marshall suddenly remembered, snatching one and biting off the corner; it was hard, but not unbreakable. "Jinx made them last week when we were decorating the house."

In his mind's eye, Marshall could see Ben slogging along on his stomach to capture the 'man eating bugs' and Lizzie helping him untangle the tree lights. Was it possible that had only been a week ago? So much had happened since then that Marshall felt the scene was one he had been present for many-many years earlier.

"I don't think Holly will mind," Peter speculated in reference to the treats. "She's really excited to be hanging out with you guys, which puts my mind at ease."

"We're happy to help," Marshall maintained his claim, pouring a glass of milk before screwing the cap back on the jug. "It's a good distracter for Mary. She needs that right now."

Taking the cup and palming the plate of cookies, Peter nodded and raised his eyebrows, "How is Mary?" his tone was stealthy, like he was going to be caught doing something indecent.

The second hunched his shoulders, "Struggling," everyone had shed insecurities in the past week, and as they'd all seen Peter not at his most sensational, Marshall at least owed him the truth when it came to Mary's attitude. "But, chinning up – trying to prepare herself for tomorrow."

"Is she going to say goodbye to James?" Peter guessed.

"I try not to call it that in front of her because it makes it sound too formal," the inspector was proud of his conjecture where this was concerned. "More like have a last word. Either way, I'm not exactly looking forward to it."

Peter gave a low whistle, "Sounds like I dodged a bullet on that one."

"From my perspective, you've been hit by hoards of firestorms this week, so you are due for dodging a bullet."

Smiling at being cut a little bit of slack, Peter held up the stack of sweets he was supposed to be taking to his daughter.

"Give me a second to give these to Holly," he requested. "Then I'll be back."

It was a few moments for Marshall to wait, listening to his brother-in-law equip the little girl with the yummy food she was now allowed to eat. After many warnings that she was not to try and get up, that she should yell if she needed anything, he finally left her content and munching on the couch, the desired movie blaring on the screen.

Returning to Marshall, he dusted his hands on his jeans after having handled so many crumbs at the bottom of the cookie jar and the other man decided he could take the hit for initiating what was clearly going to be an uncomfortable discussion.

"Judging by what Holly said, it sounds like Brandi paid you guys a visit too."

"Oh, yeah…" there was an animosity present that didn't usually manifest itself in Peter, but it wasn't hard to understand that he'd reached his limit. "She visited all right. About gave me heart failure when she walked through the door at the hospital. I had thought she might call first if she ever decided to rejoin us, but I guess that's not how Brandi does things…"

"Did you two have a chance to talk?"

"Some," Peter replied, leaning an elbow on the island and tipping his chin into his hand. "She was not happy that I decided to have Holly stay with you guys, which may have accounted for her showing up here all fired up after the fact, so I'm sorry about that…"

"I really doubt it would've made a substantial difference," Marshall shook his head. "Mary's been dying to get at Brandi since she disappeared; they were going to throw punches one way or another."

"Even so…" Peter's eyes were hard as well as disbelieving as he wagged his head side-to-side, copying Marshall's movements. "Sounds like Brandi got an earful from Mary."

"And from Ben," Marshall added as an afterthought without thinking. Not wanting to touch on that, he diverted to something else, "Did she offer you the same explanation she offered Mary?"

"Hard to say…" a grim smile appeared. "I admit I kind of quit listening once she got around to how James was involved in her scheme. Saying it was the death knell would be pretty dramatic, but…"

"Where does this leave you guys?" Marshall had wanted to leave this part of the dialogue for later in the evening, once Peter was a little more collected and once Holly was settled, but his mouth got ahead of him.

Knowing everything that Brandi had dished out for his wife, Marshall was hard-pressed not to assume she had tried using identical excuses on Peter. It sounded like Peter hadn't taken the news well either, but there was more to sort out on his end. Mary could turn her back at any time if she so desired, but Peter was in a far more intricate situation. Being married did that to a person.

"Or, if you're not there yet…" Marshall tried to backtrack when Peter didn't answer. "Expecting you to have figured out some kind of resolution is premature of me…"

But, the other man sliced the accepting nature right in half.

"We're separating."

The phrases came so quickly, so unexpectedly, that Marshall had a hard time indexing what they meant at first. Then, little by little, letter by letter, the three words formed a sentence, and the sentence formed its meaning. Even after he put two-and-two together, something didn't seem to add up. How had Peter had enough time to come to a decision? Brandi had only just shown her face that morning. It sounded like the idea had been ruminating in his brain during the days she had been missing, and he was determined to put his foot down now that she was back.

Still, it was essential that he not look hypercritical in spite of his shock. It was the last thing Peter needed.

"Wow…" still, a little bit of disbelief inched its way through. "That…that seems quick," it was just a fact; it was not disapproving. "You had time to tell Brandi, I guess?"

Saying it aloud seemed to have something of a negative effect on Peter. He began rubbing his temples between his thumb and index finger, eyes on the shiny linoleum floor.

"Maybe I will take you up on getting something to drink," a shaky chuckle. "Could I have some water?"

"Of course, absolutely…"

Saddened by the man's obvious disorientation, Marshall grabbed a second glass and filled it at the kitchen sink, passing it into Peter's hand within seconds. After a few gulps, which did seem to improve his clarity, he was ready to speak again.

"It…it's not as if I _want_ to…" he was defending his actions, something he didn't have to do when it came to Marshall. "I never wanted this at all, but what I did want was to be Brandi's husband, and I don't think that's who I am anymore. I'm her baby-sitter or her caretaker, and I'm certainly more Holly's father than anything else. She always has to take precedence, and if I'm busy running after Brandi every day to make sure she isn't in trouble, Holly isn't getting my full attention…"

This was all very logical, and Marshall nodded his head in order to encourage Peter to continue.

"I'm not giving up hope. It's way too early to be thinking about divorce…"

Marshall would never say so in front of Mary, but he was glad to hear this.

"But, we need time apart. I wouldn't dream of keeping her from Holly, and I set her up with a place to stay so she doesn't have to worry about that…"

"That's very benevolent of you," Marshall couldn't resist pointing this out, knowing it was Peter's decency guiding him to guarantee that Brandi would not be living on the street. "She threw you for a loop, man; it's been a tribulation," it was important to note that Peter was the injured party here. "Whatever you need to do, Mary and I are going to be behind you."

A relieved exhale broke from Peter's chest at Marshall's affirmation of loyalty, and the taller of the two couldn't comprehend where it came from until the soon-to-be-separated went on.

"That's…great to know," he started. "For Holly, especially. I mean, these situations get tricky when it comes to divided families, and Mary being Brandi's sister…" he trailed off, but then finished his thought. "I'm just saying…I'd get it if you sided with her – even if I didn't agree."

"I'm trying to avoid the whole mentality of 'sides,'" Marshall informed him coolly. "But, between you and me, Mary's lucky I haven't hunted Brandi down myself for a good lecture. Between you and me," he reiterated.

There was no reply from Peter, but it was clear from his lightened eyes that he felt extremely propitious to be able to bank on Mary's and Marshall's support. Just to seal the deal, Marshall threw in another two cents in case Peter needed extra reassurance.

"You were family long before Holly," he promised. "And you will be long after Brandi, if that day arrives. Family's about more than blood and DNA and all the technical jargon."

"Forgive me for it, but my uncertainty on that front was why I wanted to talk to you and not Mary," Peter confessed, a little bit of redness seeping into his bristled cheeks. "Just in case…you know, there was a snag, and I needed to rethink my decision to have Holly stay here…"

"Of course not," Marshall would swear his allegiance as many times as he needed to. "I think Mary will be disappointed about you and Brandi, but far from critical. I would advise against repeating this, but she really stuck her neck out for you when Brandi was here, so I gather." When Peter looked bewildered, he continued, "Told her how you've hung with her and that dragging you along by a string won't fly anymore."

Looking humbled and slightly pleased, Peter stole a cautionary glance to the living room to see to it that Holly was occupied. She was chewing her cookies and petting a purring Beatrix with her crumbly hands, happy and whole, parents together or apart.

"No cookies for Bee-Bee…" she sang, unaware she was being watched and using the nickname she had adopted for the cat when she'd first learned to talk. "Cookies for Holly…"

"That's a comfort to hear…" Peter stated once he tuned back in. "Because I am definitely not the only one Brandi has been dragging by a string."

Back in the bedroom, Mary was doing her best to keep busy by finally tossing Ben's action figurines into the red plastic crate where they were usually kept. She didn't have much interest in what Jinx had to say – she was sitting on Lizzie's bed and twisting her hands in her lap – but at least she was calm enough to be able to clean without turning into a psycho.

"Ben must've asked for fifty more of these for Christmas…" Mary mumbled as she worked, trying to keep the topic neutral. "Why the hell he needs so many I'll never know…"

"He's at that age…" Jinx sighed vaguely. "The more, the better."

"Uh-huh…"

"I found another gift for him the other day that I think he'll like…" Jinx's voice was high-pitched and nervous. "It's a kite you can make yourself, and then of course you can fly it…"

"Great…" Mary didn't mean to sound ungrateful, but she was irritable and anxious for whatever was coming. "One more thing that can fly, whereas Ben still can't."

Jinx ignored this, seeing that they weren't going to get any small talk accomplished if Mary was going to be surly and keep her distance. The older woman went quiet for a moment as she tried to figure out her next move, eyes scanning what the room had become over the years since its inception as the soldier's palace. The little men still marched in their border around the ceiling, and the lettering decals were still present, though all had been remounted into a pyramid shape beside the door to make room for Ben's superhero posters.

The same string of photos was plastered beneath the window, though the contents of the frames had changed. The few original sonogram pictures lingered – Jamie and the twins alike – but faces of Ben and Lizzie growing up had replaced those of the young Mary and Marshall. Except for one.

Mary cradled on her father's lap at the age of five was still there, her toothy grin and snaggled ponytail exactly the way Jinx remembered it. No smile could beat the one that had presented itself whenever James was home – a smile the likes of which she had never received in Mary's youth.

A smile she certainly was not receiving right now. And if the atmosphere was going to be glum, Jinx might as well say what she needed to.

"Angel…"

"What, mom?" Mary wouldn't look up.

"Were you planning on going tomorrow?" she was tentative, but very resolute.

"Going where?" Mary played dumb, trying to screw in a missing arm on one of her son's toys.

"Well…" Jinx couldn't pretend she was fooled. "Well…to see your father…"

"Yes," Mary stated shortly, not wanting to go into further detail. "Are you?"

The blonde expected her mother to respond with the same answer as her daughter, but the shocking reveals just wouldn't quit.

"I don't think so, sweetie," she whispered. "I said my fill the other day. I really don't have any desire to see him again."

The soft, faltering quality of Jinx's voice indicated that she did not want Mary to feel substandard for making a different choice, but it didn't work. Mary became hot and prickly all over at the thought that Jinx had already moved on, while she still needed that one last blast to complete the circle – if she could complete the circle.

Pausing in her organizing quest, Mary turned over her shoulder to see Jinx looked more troubled than ever, like her daughter was a bomb ready to detonate.

"Maybe I shouldn't go either…" Mary's voice was stiff.

"No," and Jinx was equally solid in her intentions. "That is not what I meant at all. You do what's right for you, honey. Going to him one more time is not a sin. He's had forty years to come to you."

That was certainly true, Mary thought, but she was still afraid of what was going to go down when she attempted to delve into the true final farewell with her father. Would she cry? Would she just get angry again? Would he even want to see her; would she be able to hold it together at all, or would it be a mix of ranting and raving and sobbing, some theatrical production, the likes of which she longed to avoid?

What she wanted it to be – what she had always wanted her relationship with James to be – was normal. But, could she do normal? Could she pretend, just for an hour, that he was any old dad she was going to chew the fat with before journey's end?

"I suppose Brandi will show up…" Mary muttered in order to avoid speaking about her conflict.

"I have no idea," Jinx was straightforward. "But, don't let her influence your choice."

Mary snorted, "I wasn't planning to. I wasn't planning to let anything she does run my life ever again."

"I know you're furious, Mary," her mother declared. "I'm furious, too."

"You don't act like it," the younger was noting her collected, if shaky demeanor that had been present since Brandi's arrival.

"I am," Jinx nearly repeated. "I can't promise it'll last, darling. She's my daughter, just like you are, but it'll take awhile for me to forgive what she did – mostly that she left Holly. I swore to myself after your father flew the coop that no matter how else I screwed you up, I would never abandon you like he did. I can't wrap my head around Brandi having done it to her child."

"Well, you're in luck, mom…" a spontaneous joke occurred to Mary. "Here we are, forty years after he disappeared, and you _still_ won't leave me alone. You can spread your wings whenever you're ready."

Jinx gave a bemused, tinkling laugh at hearing the woman lighten up, but the josh didn't meet Mary's eyes. She was chewing on her lip, rotating one of Ben's figurines in her hand, staring at something that was beyond her mother – something sure to appear tomorrow.

"I don't know what I'm gonna say to him, mom."

Surprisingly, Jinx had advice, "You say whatever comes to mind – whatever you need tomorrow to be, you can make it that. Don't let him call the shots."

"I don't want to let him do that anymore," Mary whispered, knowing her profession held deeper meaning than that of the impending jailhouse visit.

"You'll get there," Jinx sounded sure. "Take Marshall with you tomorrow," she implored softly. "He'll be a big help; he really will."

It was Laura's appeal all over again, one that Mary was still hesitant to act upon, but now two mothers were trying to show her the light. Could she ignore a sign that was shining so brightly, a sign that said her husband was her safeguard and that everything would come out in the wash so long as she took him by the hand and led him face first into the fire?

"I don't like involving him in this stuff, mom…"

"Mary, sweetheart…"

Her jade eyes inside her porcelain skin twinkled exactly like the woman's she was speaking to – exactly as they did when she sought to seize something she desperately wanted.

"Trust me…"

That wasn't a phrase that was usually in Mary's script, but she might have to listen to it this time.

"Take Marshall. He'll know what to do."

XXX

**A/N: I am infinitely grateful for the little band of you that are still reading. I really do appreciate it. **


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